Four Going on Forty
by quack675
Summary: Chase was a precocious little tyke, wasn't he?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I'm rather depressed today, so I dug up this story to cheer myself up. I started it thinking I was going to do a Halloween crack!fic short story but got too sick to finish it by Halloween, so it got shoved aside. I learned a couple of things with the effort. One: I don't do _crack!fic_. I do _angst_. Two: I don't really do _short_ either. Let me know if you're interested or if you think this is the stupidest premise for a story you've ever read. _

__

Four Going on Forty

"I think it's _possible_," Chase shrugged. He was torn between telling the truth about his beliefs and taking the easy route by agreeing with his peers.

"You would," Cameron laughed. "He has all the Harry Potter books, you know," she informed her colleagues, making them laugh. "And the movies."

"I only liked the first five," Chase told her. "I haven't even finished the seventh," he announced. "I read spoilers. It sucked," he said bitterly. Of course, that bit of information probably was not helping his case. Foreman was looking at him like he had sprouted a third arm.

They were gathered around the table in the conference room discussing the latest case. The patient had been a four year old boy with a genetic disorder. The interesting element was the mother who claimed she was a witch, but not just any witch, a sorceress. She and House had had a knock-down-drag-out fight when she said she was going to turn to the Black Arts to find healing for her son, rather than trusting the medical guidelines to cope with the disorder. House, of course, had called her an idiot and asked why her magic did not keep her son from getting sick in the first place. She had no answer for that, but asked House how he would handle it if _his_ son had a problem medicine could not cure. House had declared that he was smart enough to not have children so he would not have to deal with their problems. He had enough of his own.

"Look, I'm not saying I think she can heal the kid. I'm saying I think it's possible that she really does practice Black Magic. I think it's possible that _she_ believes she could heal the kid."

Foreman rolled his eyes, "How gullible are you? Aliens _and_ witchcraft?"

"And God. Don't forget God," House added, sitting at his desk, twirling his red and white ball.

"Look, I witnessed an exorcism," Chase revealed. "There are some freaky things out there."

"Really?" Foreman asked, sounding as though his curiosity was piqued. "What was that like?"

"I can't believe you're buying into that crap too," House scolded Foreman.

Before Chase could answer, Ivana Whit, the patient's mother, burst through the office door. She was dressed in black from head to toe, even wearing a long leather trench coat. Her blond hair and fair skin were paled by her dark eyeliner and bright red lipstick.

"Halloween isn't until next week," House told her sarcastically. "Come back then and we'll bob for--"

"Hush!" Ivana yelped. "You think you're so smart. You think you can tell a mother how to treat her child? You don't know anything, but you're going to find out."

Concerned by the woman's ranting threat, Foreman reached for his cell phone to alert hospital security.

"Don't even think about it!" Ivana shouted, turning toward Foreman. His phone flew from his hand and his chair hurled itself against the wall with him still in it. He swallowed nervously, then dropped his hands to his sides to show he was cooperating.

Chase and Cameron were startled into silence by the scene.

"You're going to give me a sick kid?" House asked, with a laugh. "Please, even if you could use your _hocus pocus _to make a child materialize, you wouldn't inflict a disease on the innocent. You're a _mother_, after all."

Ivana scowled, looking from House to Foreman to Cameron to Chase. She paused a moment, examining each of their faces carefully, then smiled deliciously when she studied Chase.

Unnerved, he looked to Cameron, who was watching Ivana watching him so closely.

"Oh, you're perfect," Ivana laughed. "No parents. No family."

"How did you know that?" Chase asked, stunned.

"I'm reading your aura," Ivana told him, inching closer. She reached out to stroke his cheek and he backed away from her.

Again, Chase looked to Cameron for a reaction, wondering if the three other doctors had set him up in some kind of elaborate hoax. Cameron's gaping expression told him that she was not in on this if it were a prank. He glanced at his own chest and legs, wondering if there was some way to cover up his "aura." He felt violated somehow that she was gathering information from him without his permission.

"So damaged, so young," Ivana whispered. She turned back to House, looking him up and down with a penetrating glare. "Medicine can't heal everything. Yes, he's perfect. He's yours." All the loose papers on the table started swirling around, the lights started flashing. The glass door of the office swung back and forth on its hinges.

In awe, Cameron watched the door swinging, then felt herself being pulled under the table by Chase. He had his back to the door and was shielding her from the flying glass as it shattered. "Close your eyes!" he told her.

When she opened them, the entire room was dark. It looked as if the entire fourth floor was dark, but it was quiet. There was not even any light coming in the window from the outside streetlight. How could the hospital be this dark? The emergency generators should have kicked in for a power outage. She remembered that each floor had its own generator and that the system was set up so that the ICU, ER, OR's, and patient rooms were priority. Office space was not guaranteed emergency power. She put her hand to her forehead because it was burning and felt that she was bleeding, though it was just a small cut. "Chase?" she called. His body had been so comfortingly close to hers when they hit the floor. Now she could not feel him near her. "House? Foreman?"

"Cameron?" she heard Foreman answer. "Where are you?"

"Under the table," she answered. "Why don't we have any light at all?" she asked. "Chase? House?" she called their names again.

"What the hell was that?" came House's voice.

"I don't know, but I think we need to do one of those exorcisms Chase was talking about," Foreman answered, getting to his feet and feeling his way to now overturned table. "Cameron? Give me your hand," he instructed, groping around in the murky darkness to find her. "Where _are_ you?"

"I'm here!" Cameron said, able to feel around until she found Foreman's ankle by moving toward his voice.

Foreman reached down to the woman and helped her get to her feet. "House, don't you have a flashlight in your desk?" he asked.

"I can't find my desk," House told them. He was not sure exactly where in the dark room he was. He had been at his desk before the "sorceress" arrived, but he was on the floor now. "Son of a bitch," he cried out, reaching out and cutting himself on shards of the glass from the door. "Damn it, Chase, say something so we know you're alive," he ordered.

They all waited expectantly. Nothing.

"Chase?" Cameron called, more frantic now that House had put the idea into her head that he might not be alive. The kooky woman had been looking at him like she planned to use him in some kind of diabolical plan. "He has to be here!" she told them. "He pulled me under the table so I wouldn't get blasted by the glass. He should have been on top of me when I woke up."

"Too much information," House griped.

"Oh, shut up!" Cameron ordered him, "Chase, where are you?" She carefully felt around under the table, but there was clearly no one there.

"Ah! Found it!" House announced from another part of the room.

"Your flashlight?" Foreman asked.

"My desk," House answered.

Foreman rolled his eyes and called Chase's name. They waited, but the only sound was House rumbling through desk drawers.

"Someone has a light," Foreman announced, noticing a shining circle dancing its way down the hallway toward their office. "Hey! We need some help!" he yelled to the unknown person. "Someone's hurt!"

Cameron wanted to tell Foreman that Chase was not hurt, but since he had not answered, she had to accept that he was at least unconscious, if not worse. "Please! We need the light!" she added.

"House? Who's hurt?" came Wilson's voice as he hurriedly brought the flashlight into the office. "_What_ happened to the door?" he asked, his feet crunching over broken glass.

"We can't find Chase," Cameron told him. "He pulled me under the table, but he's not there."

"Where's House?" Wilson asked.

"Here," House answered. The sound of rummaging continued. "See if you can find Chase."

Wilson carefully shone the light all over the floor of the room and eventually made his way to the far wall where there was a couch. There was no sign of Chase, "Who's the kid?" he asked, the light falling onto the form of a small boy who appeared to be sleeping.

"Kid?" House asked, stopping what he was doing. "What kid?" They all made their way toward the couch where the cherub like face of a little blond boy was illuminated.

"Oh. My. God," Cameron covered her mouth with both hands. She recognized the child from pictures in Chase's home. "It's Chase."


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Wow! So you guys like this?! Thanks for all the comments! _

"What do you mean it's Chase?" Foreman was the first to find his voice after Cameron's announcement.

"I've seen his baby pictures. That's Chase!" Cameron told them, frenzied.

"He showed you his baby pictures?" House asked, holding back his laughter.

"I _found_ them," Cameron answered, with an odd lilt on the word _found_ that told the others she had been snooping through her boyfriend's things.

"That can not be Chase," Wilson said. It was not rational. It was not possible. "This is you guys helping House play a prank on me. I don't think Cuddy is going to be amused by the power outage stunt though." He shined the light up and down the figure of the child again. "I've got to give you points for detail though--looks just like Chase, right down to the blue and green striped shirt paired with a sweater vest of a distinctly different shade of blue. How'd you manage to find the same tacky outfit in both size Chase and size mini-Chase?"

"It _is_ the same shirt and vest," Cameron gasped, realizing that the little boy was dressed just like Chase had been. "It's Chase! Oh my! It's really Chase!" She swayed. There was just enough light from the flashlight for Foreman to realize that Cameron was going to pass out, so he caught her, though for a split second he considered letting her fall since no one could blame him if he had not noticed her swaying in the dark.

"She's totally in on this," Wilson said. "It's not going to work."

"I'm not pranking you," House told Wilson. "The crazy so-called sorceress was here before all this happened."

Wilson was aware of the interesting parent of their latest patient, but he glared with raging skepticism.

"Guys, where can I put her?" Foreman asked. Cameron had become dead weight in his arms.

"Toss her on the couch with her toy boy," House instructed.

"And wake it up? I don't think so!" Foreman said.

"It?" House repeated. "That's a little harsh, even for you."

"Okay, you wake him up. Go ahead," Foreman dared.

House started to reach down and shake the little boy's shoulders, but he hesitated. "Why shouldn't I?" he asked, turning back to Foreman. "He might be able to give us some answers."

"Uh-huh. What is he, three? Four? What's the first thing a four year old is going to do when he wakes up in the dark surrounded by three strange men and an unconscious woman?"

"Start crying his pitiful little eyes out," Wilson answered. If this was a joke, it was a pretty cruel to include this child. He questioned if even House would stoop that low.

"Worse," House stated. "He's going to ask for his Mummy."

The three men all exchanged horrified expressions, realizing that if by some strange twist of the paranormal that really was the real Chase, someone was going to have to tell him that his Mum was dead. None of them wanted that responsibility.

"Okay, first we have to figure out if that really is Chase," House said.

"It can't be," Foreman protested, still holding onto Cameron.

"Yeah, well, your chair can't really fling itself against the wall either, but we all saw that."

"I didn't see that," Wilson corrected.

"Shut up," House sighed. "Then if it is Chase, we have to figure out how old he is and what he remembers. Maybe it's adult Chase in a four year old body."

"This is insane," Foreman said. He felt Cameron start to stir. She blinked a few times and then eased her way back to a standing position.

"What happened?" she asked, sounding dazed.

Wilson shone the light back on the little boy.

"I'm not dreaming?" Cameron asked. "Is this a joke? Are you all playing a prank on me? Is Chase in on it?"

"Look, I'm not pranking Wilson. We're not pranking you. We have a four year old where my intensivist used to be. We need some damn light!" House announced angrily.

There was a loud whirring sound as all the lights came back on. Even House looked stunned by the timing. One thing was certain, the power company would not let a hospital go without electricity for very long.

"Bet you couldn't do that again," Foreman quipped.

"Never underestimate me," House answered.

"Great. Figure out what to do with him," Foreman said. He had managed to sleep through their shouting to each other, their conversation, and the flashlight shining on his face; but somehow the buzz from the fluorescent lights coming back on had disturbed the little fellow from his sleep.

The four adults in the room watched and waited as the tyke blinked his sleepy blue eyes and yawned. His eyes grew wide as he looked up at the people surrounding him. He looked just as startled as they did. "Uh-oh," the little boy said as he sat up, keeping his feet propped on the couch. "I'm sorry."

Five syllables was all it took to detect an Australian accent.

"Why are you sorry?" Cameron asked, sitting down next to the child.

"I fell asleep in the wrong office," he explained. "Are you okay?" he asked, noticing the cut on her forehead. "You're bleeding."

Cameron felt her forehead again, "I'm fine. It's just a little cut," she assured him. "Sweetie, what's your name?"

"Joseph Robert Chase," he answered. "What's your name?"

"Allison Noelle Cameron," she said, extending her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Joseph Robert Chase."

Chase giggled and shook her hand. He looked to Foreman, "What's your name?"

"Eric Foreman," Foreman answered at an unusually slow pace.

Chase nodded and looked to House and continued his new game, "What's your name?"

"Greg House," House answered, also sounding bewildered. "And this is my friend Jimmy Wilson."

"House, what's going on?" Foreman asked.

House shrugged.

About that time, Cuddy came marching into the room. "House, what the hell is going on?" she barked. She had jumped to the correct conclusion that House was somehow responsible for the power outage.

"Language!" House sang, jerking his head toward the child on the couch.

Cuddy stopped, surprised to see the little boy. With his light blond hair and big blue eyes, she thought he looked like a smaller version of Chase. She then noticed that he had the same jaw line and nose… and the same taste in clothes. "Chase have a kid he didn't tell us about?" she muttered softly so that only House and Wilson could clearly understand her.

"We think that _is_ Chase," Wilson answered.

Cuddy sighed a very exasperated sigh. "Very funny. And did little Chase there shatter the door on his way in?" she asked in a biting tone at her normal volume.

"I didn't!" Chase answered in a panic. "I promise I didn't!" Tears began to well in his eyes. "I'm not bad," he said as his lower lip started to tremble. He pulled his legs closer to his chest and leaned his head against his knees, hiding his face. "I'm not bad."

"Now you've done it," House snapped, expecting the wailing to start at any moment.

"It's okay, Honey," Cameron soothed him, rubbing her hand across his back. "No one really thinks you broke the door. Dr. Cuddy is just in a bad mood," she glared at the other woman, something she wanted to do more often than she could get away with doing.

"Oh," Cuddy's expression softened as maternal feelings of guilt took over. "I'm sorry," she said, walking over to the couch where she found Chase quietly crying tears that seemed so big on his little face. "I wasn't accusing you, not really. I was being sarcastic," she explained fruitlessly.

"Yes, I'm sure he understands the subtleties of sarcasm," House muttered.

"What's your name?" Cuddy asked him.

Chase looked up and smiled at her, "Joseph Robert Chase." He wiped his eyes on his sleeves. "What's your name?" He immediately brightened with the new opportunity to ask the question.

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

"My Papa's a doctor too," Chase told her proudly. "He's a roo-ma-tall-gist," He sounded out the too big word very carefully. The cuteness of a four year old tackling the word _rheumatologist_ was almost more than Cameron or Cuddy could take because both softly "awed" in response. Even Wilson was smiling foolishly. Suddenly Chase's expression darkened, "Can you help me find my Papa?"

Cuddy looked to House for the answer, "This isn't funny anymore."

"I'm not laughing," House told her.

"We should call the police," Cuddy suggested.

"Right, they should stop her before Ivana Whit goes on a rampage of Black Magic regressions," Wilson said soft enough that Chase would not hear him. There was no way they could involve the police in this. "Call the police and they'll turn him into a lab rat. Or arrest us for kidnapping."

House turned to Wilson, the one among them with the most experience dealing with children. "What do we do? Any ideas?"

Chase's big eyes also turned to Wilson.

"Honey, your father isn't here," Wilson said in his patented telling-a-kid-he-has-cancer tone.

Chase blinked a few times, "Oh." He looked down as he seemed to process what that meant.

Cuddy walked over to House, "What is this?" she asked him in a whisper. "I know that's not really Chase."

"Remember the self-proclaimed sorceress mommy?" House asked. He quickly explained to her how Ivana had shown up and all hell had broken loose and this is what they had awoken to find.

"It's not possible!" Cuddy argued.

"Then who is that?" House asked.

"Let's do a DNA test," Cuddy suggested.

"Obviously," House said. "But we can't yank his hair out or stick a swab in his mouth until he's comfortable."

Cuddy did a double take. House had just put someone else's needs first.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. We don't want him to start screaming for his dead mother," House told her in a whisper. "Or his dead father," he added.

"Do you know how you got here?" Wilson asked earnestly. He kneeled on the floor to be eye to eye with the little boy. Eerily enough, there was not one shard of glass near the child.

Chase shook his head. "I just woke up here."

"Where were you before?" Wilson quizzed.

Chase looked as if he were considering the question diligently. "I don't remember."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Chase bit his lip and looked down, "I don't know," he said softly.

"How old are you?" Wilson asked.

"Four," Chase answered, confirming everyone's estimation of his age.

Wilson paused, then decided to ask a less basic question, "Have you ever seen any of us before?"

Chase shook his head.

"Where do you think you are?" He doubted that he would get a definitive answer. Building names were not too high on the list of things that four year olds would notice.

"M-Mel-b-bourne Medical Centre," he answered in a quivering whisper.

Wilson looked to his colleagues. No child could give this compelling of a performance. He really did believe he was Joseph Robert Chase and he really believed he was lost somewhere in a Melbourne hospital and he really was frightened.

"My mum--"

Five people cringed when he said the "m" word.

"--Must have brought me." Chase finished the sentence. "Maybe we took the wrong lift," he suggested.

"Precocious little tyke, isn't he?" Wilson observed, looking to House and Cuddy for some guidance.

"He would be," House commented as if had just had an epiphany. "Cameron, stay with Joe Bob while we have a team huddle," he jerked his head toward his desk so the others would follow.

"Joe Bob?" Cameron repeated quietly, shaking her head.

The other doctors gathered around House's desk. "This kid obviously is operating higher than most four year olds, so it really could be Chase. I mean, damn, he looks like him, talks like him--he never could say _rheumatologist_--and is obviously well mannered and intelligent."

Foreman looked particularly offended by this description.

"Maybe we should just explain what's going on. Maybe he'll get it."

"House," Cuddy exclaimed, "He's four. Unless he remembers being an adult, telling him that he's alone in a foreign country and his parents are dead is not going to go over too well. I don't care how bright he is." Cuddy shook her head, realizing the ludicrous nature of what she was saying. "He can't comprehend _that_."

"Well, what do you suggest?" House asked.

"First, we do a DNA test," she said.

"That'll take--"

"I'll personally put a rush job on it," Cuddy assured him. "We should just ask little Chase for a strand of hair or to let us swab his mouth. I'm sure we can find a sample of his DNA if we get a brush or comb out of our Chase's locker."

"Maybe we shouldn't call the little guy _Chase_," Foreman suggested. "How many kids do you know who answer to their last names?"

"Okay, _Robert_, then," Wilson said.

"He doesn't look like a _Robert_," House argued, looking back at the child who was watching them with curiosity.

They all turned to look at the kid.

"He _doesn't_ look like a _Robert_, does he?" Cuddy agreed. "_Bobby_?"

Foreman found himself appraising the child with the rest of them and shook himself out of the moment of insanity. "We could just ask him, you know!"

"Hey, Joe Bob," House limped over to the couch again. "I'm sorry to say your father isn't at this hospital."

Chase nodded morosely, unable to understand how he got to a strange hospital with strange people.

"But, don't be afraid. We're going to take care of you for a while. What do you want us to call you?"

Chase looked up at the group, "Everyone calls you _House_. You called him _Wilson_ and her _Cameron_. So… I think… I think you're supposed to call me _Chase_."

"Wow," Cuddy said, "He is _not_ a normal four year old."

"Aren't we lucky," House said, his eyes lighting up. If they had a normal four year old on their hands there would be screaming and crying aplenty. "Foreman, check his IQ. This could get interesting."

"House, you are not going to treat him like a test subject," Cuddy warned him.

"It's just an IQ test," House soothed. "He'll think he's playing games and it'll keep him occupied for a while so we can figure out what to do with him."

"DNA," Cuddy reminded him.

"Chase, do you know what DNA is?" House asked.

Chase shook his head, "No, sir."

"Oh, well, I'll tell you when you're six. Look, can I have a strand of your hair?"

"Why?" Chase asked.

"It won't hurt," House told him. He reached into his own hair and plucked a strand. "See."

"But why?"

"Because you have great hair."

Chase seemed puzzled by this response.

House could tell he wanted to ask "Why?" again, but he held himself back. He realized that Chase was asking the question, not because he was afraid it would hurt, but because he wanted all the answers. Therefore, so the best way to get him to comply was to give him an answer. "I want to learn what makes up your hair, so I have to put it under a microscope."

"Okay," Chase said, plucking a few strands of his light blond locks. "You can have more if you need it," he offered.

House took the strands from the tiny outreached hand. "Thank you."

"She has pretty hair," Chase said, smiling at Cameron. "You should check her hair too."

Cameron smiled, holding back a laugh.

Foreman looked upward, smirking. Even a four year old Chase had a crush on Cameron.

House extended his hand to Cameron who obliged by plucking out a strand of her hair as well. House passed the strands of hair to Cuddy. "Don't get them confused."

Cuddy took the very long brunette hair and the much shorter white-blond strands in her palm. "I think I can handle it."

"Cameron, do you happen to know your best friend's locker combination?"

"Of course," she answered.

"Good, we need you to run an errand." House told her. He did not have to tell her specifically to go find some of Chase's DNA. That much was obvious.

"I'll be back in a little while, okay?" Cameron warmly told Chase. She kissed him on the forehead.

He nodded, though he looked disappointed as she left.

"Okay, Chase, remember Foreman here?" House said, pointing toward the neurologist.

Chase nodded, "Yes, sir."

"He wants to play a game with you."

"I am not giving him an IQ test," Foreman balked.

"Yes, you are."

"I'm a neurologist, not some Master's level psychodiagnostician."

"It'll be fun," House told Chase, noting how irritated Foreman looked by the idea of spending an hour alone with the child. "But if he tries to make it a bad game, you bang on the door and yell for help. Whatever you do, don't let him diddle with your dingo. Got it?"

"House!" Foreman snapped, veins throbbing on his forehead. "He's four."

"What does that mean?" Chase asked innocently.

"Well, it means that Foreman--"

"It doesn't mean anything," Foreman said sharply. The only way to keep House from corrupting this innocent mind was to do what he wanted. "Will you follow me?"

Chase nodded and got off the couch. He tried to take a step, but fell forward, hitting the floor with a smack.

"Are you okay?" Foreman asked, bending over to help Chase get to his feet again. He braced himself, waiting for the sobbing that would normally accompany any four year old falling that hard.

"My legs feel funny," Chase told him. He rubbed his hands over his calves.

"You were asleep a long time," Foreman said. "Maybe you just need to walk a bit to get the blood pumping again." He extended his hand. "Here, I'll help you."

"Meet me at the MRI in an hour," House instructed. It had not occurred to him that there would be anything physically wrong with the child. If the witch could magically regress Chase back to his four year old self, she could have at least worked out the kinks.

"Do your legs feel tingly?" Foreman asked, taking Chase's hand in his own and helping him get up.

Chase nodded, "Prickly." He wiped dirt from the floor off his knees. "I've got dust on my pants," he lamented. "Mum's going to be mad."

"It's okay. It was an accident. Besides, most kids have dust on their knees." Foreman helped him walk around the room. "There you go," he said after a few minutes. "That better?"

Chase nodded again, "Thank you."

"Do you think you skinned your knees?" Foreman asked.

Chase shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Come on, then, let's go play those games." With that, Foreman took a tiny hand in his own and led a diminutive Joseph Robert Chase over the shattered glass and down the hallway.

"There is hope for world peace yet," House told Wilson, watching his two fellows as they went.


	3. Chapter 3

Foreman took Chase into a small room in the neurology department. It held only a round table with four chairs. There was a small window in the doorway and a mirror along one wall. Those familiar with similar settings would recognize that the glass was actually a two-way mirror which would allow someone to stand on the other side to make observations.

"Can you sit here for me for a couple of minutes?" Foreman asked, leading Chase to one of the chairs.

"Yes, sir," Chase answered, taking the seat. He folded his hands neatly and rested them on the table in front of him. Foreman had to begrudgingly admit that the kid was polite. _Well-bred _is what some would call it.

"You don't have to call me _sir_. 'Foreman' is fine." He said as unlocked a closet and skimmed the titles of the instruments at his disposal. He ruled out several tests immediately because they very verbally loaded tests that were normed on American children in the last ten years or so. It would be useless to test an Australian child whose world was somewhere in the late 1970's with tests that were updated for the turn of the century. He quickly deduced that he would have to use a completely nonverbal test and that he would have to find one appropriate for a young child. His best option was the Leiter-R. It too would have questionable results given the norms, but it was as good as he was going to find unless he tracked down an outdated test whose norms would fit Chase's time frame. That was entirely too much trouble. He grabbed the briefcase, surprised at the weight of the instrument and turned back to face the table. Chase was sitting exactly as Foreman had left him.

Foreman pulled out a pencil, a stopwatch, the test easels, a protocol, and a box of stimulus cards. "Okay, Chase, we're going to play some picture games. It's not anything you can study for. Just do your best. And no one gets everything right, so don't be upset if each game starts off really easy and then gets really hard. Do you understand?"

Chase nodded, but he looked apprehensive. He swallowed the huge lump forming in his throat.

"What's the matter, Little Man?" Foreman asked. The child looked terrified. Most kids did not fear _picture games _this much.

"Papa said I have to make 160." Chase looked at the test nervously. "He'll be mad if I'm not smart enough. I only made 158 last time." Chase looked down, clearly ashamed of his score. "I can't mess up again."

Foreman's expression changed from one of placating concern to disbelief. Not only did Chase realize that this was an IQ test, but he had just revealed that his father's expectation was for him to score four standard deviations above the mean. It would require near perfection, an unrealistic, even cruel, expectation to put on any child. He was disgusted that any parent could tell his child that a score of 158 was "not good enough." It was within the top one tenth of one percent of the population.

"Chase," Foreman started. His voice was serious but kind. "No matter what your father says, 158 is a _really_ good score. The highest you could even make on this test is 170!"

Chase furrowed his brow as he thought about what Foreman said. "But that means I got twelve things wrong!" he exclaimed. "That's a lot. I have to do better to make Papa happy."

Foreman was overwhelmed by the things this tiny person was saying. "You just subtracted 158 from 170 _in your head_. Most kids can't do that until first or second grade and, even then, they'd need paper and a pencil. You're not even in school yet."

"It's easy," Chase told him. "Eight is two from ten and then you have sixteen plus one more is seventeen; so that makes twelve."

Foreman blinked a few times, trying to grasp how Chase was looking at the problem. There was some warped working logic in there somewhere, but it only told him that while the child could arrive at the right answer, he really did not have a firm understanding of the process. He had devised a method that made sense to him.

"I have to read and write and do maths. I have a tutor. Papa teaches me to speak Czech and Japanese too. When he has time. What languages do you speak?"

"Four year olds don't need tutors. They need to have some fun," Foreman said. It was no wonder Chase had gotten the fellowship at the age of twenty-five. His lunatic father probably had him in medical school by the time he was thirteen. Foreman considered explaining that his score did not mean Chase had gotten twelve things wrong, but he was apprehensive about getting into the way tests were developed and normed and scored. Chase would ask too many questions and that discussion was better suited for Master's level diagnostic classes.

"I have fun," Chase replied, with no enthusiasm in his response. "Japanese is fun. Papa sounds funny."

Foreman rubbed his forehead. Japanese did not sound like fun to him. He doubted it was the Japanese that was fun for Chase either. The kid probably just wanted to spend time with his dad. "I'm not going to make you take this test," he said. "You've already had one. That's enough." He started gathering the materials to put them back in the closet.

"But maybe I can do better this time and make Papa happy," Chase suggested. He watched as Foreman straightened the easels in their carrying case. "Dr. Stein, Papa's friend… he told Papa I might do better when I started school. Please let me try?"

Foreman dropped the pencil and stop watch into the case.

"You think I'll do worse, don't you?" he asked, dejected when Foreman did not stop gathering the material to put it away.

"No," Foreman looked up and saw the child peering at him. "I don't think you'll do worse. I think that you've done a great job already and there's no use in repeating something you've already done."

Chase bit his lip as tears sprang to his eyes. "I'm getting dumber," he announced. "I'm never going to make Papa happy." He blinked the tears away.

"No, that's not it at all." Foreman said, forgetting that this used to be his thirty year old colleague. "You're plenty smart and you don't need some stupid IQ test to tell you that. You're like a fourteen year old in a four year old's body. I think you need to be a kid for a while instead of a mini-adult." He reached over and patted Chase's back. "Let's have some fun."

Now the challenge was finding something that resembled fun while stuck in the confines of the hospital. Foreman put the IQ test back in its place and rummaged through some of the bins where they kept toys and manipulatives for the developmental tests. He pulled out a ball, a family of dolls, some stuffed toys, a box of crayons, and paper. There were some puzzles designed for preschoolers, but they were so simple he was sure Chase would put them together in ten seconds, so they would be no fun.

"What do you want to do?" he asked after he laid all the materials out on the table. "Draw, play pretend, or play with the ball?"

Chase's eyes lit up when he saw the stuffed white rabbit with pink satin inside its ears and on its paws and the brown bear wearing a green vest. "Pretend!" he said eagerly.

"Great!" Foreman took the two stuffed animals and got on the floor by the table. Chase watched him. "Well, we can't very well play pretend at a boring old table, now can we?"

Chase got on the floor in front of Foreman who was sitting cross-legged.

"You want to be the bear or the rabbit?" Foreman asked, holding a toy in each hand.

Chase looked at them both, his eyes lingering on the rabbit longer. "You should pick. They're your toys."

"I'll be the bear then," Foreman declared, pulling the bear closer to him. He could tell from Chase's radiant expression that he had made the right choice.

Chase took the rabbit that was held out to him and hugged it, then petted the top of its head. He rubbed the bunny's ear against his cheek and smiled.

"Does he have a name?" Foreman asked.

"Cammie," Chase told him the first name that came to mind.

Foreman had to fight his urge to laugh out loud. He supposed Chase was destined to have a crush on Cameron no matter when he met her. "What's the bear's name?"

"You should pick," Chase said, still petting the rabbit.

"I think you're better at picking names than me," Foreman said, hoping to guide Chase just enough to get him to play openly. He could already tell that Chase was afraid of making a wrong decision.

"Henry?" Chase asked.

"Henry is a great name!" Foreman gushed. "See how good you are at picking names!"

Chase beamed at the approval.

"What should Henry and Cammie do for fun today?" Foreman asked.

Chase bit his lip while he thought about it. "Learn Japanese?" he asked.

"Um, I don't know any Japanese," Foreman said. It pained him that the child could not think of anything more fun for the bear and rabbit to do. "If you could do anything, what would you do? We can pretend that Henry and Cammie are doing that."

"Go to the museum with Papa?" Chase asked.

"Okay," Foreman agreed reluctantly. Did this child have no concept of beaches, food fights, pirates, trains, aliens, or Disneyland? "What are we going to see at the museum?"

"Dinosaurs," Chase answered. "Papa will meet us there."

Foreman made the bear waddle across the floor about a foot. "It's a long way to the museum," he said in a cartoon voice.

Chase made the rabbit hop along, following the bear. "I hope we don't get lost," he said in a higher pitch.

"We should remember what we see on the way to the museum," Foreman had Henry suggest. "That way, we can find our way back. What's that?" He pointed the bear's paw to the left.

"Oh no!" Cammie squeaked. "It's a monster!"

"What should we do?" Henry asked.

"Hide!" Cammie answered. Chase folded the rabbit's ears down to cover her eyes.

"Where should we hide?" Henry asked.

"Over there!" Cammie said, hopping quickly to one of the table legs.

Henry followed, "What is this place?" he asked, his head turning to look in one direction and then another.

"Under the bed. Shhh!" Cammie shushed him.

"Will we be safe here?" Henry whispered.

"Usually," Cammie answered. "We have to be very, very quiet," she told him sternly.

"What happens if we're not quiet?" Henry asked.

Cammie did not answer. She put one paw to her mouth and said "Shhh!"

Henry waited about a minute. "Is it safe yet?" he asked in a soft voice.

Cammie peered around the table leg. "I think she's gone," she answered.

"Where did she go?" Foreman asked through Henry, finding it interesting that the monster was a female and that Chase felt like he was "usually" safe hiding under a bed.

"She got thirsty," Cammie answered. "We can escape through the closet!" She quickly hopped a few feet and made a show of opening the pretend door. "Come on!"

Henry followed along and Cammie kept hopping.

"Which way to the museum?" Cammie asked.

"This way," Henry answered, going in another direction.

"Not much further now," Cammie said. She stopped suddenly, "Oh no!"

"What's wrong?" Henry asked.

"It's closed," Cammie said, disappointed. "We're too late."

"Oh, no," Henry answered, pausing beside Cammie.

"Papa must've left," Cammie said. "What can we do now?"

Foreman was surprised by the sudden end to their pretend adventure. He was hoping to have Chase interact with his father via Cammie, but he did not want to press Chase into acting out that situation. He looked to the items on the table. "I suppose we could draw some dinosaurs," he suggested.

"Okay," Chase answered, getting off the floor. He dusted his pants legs. He carried the bunny with him to the table and set it down about a foot from his chair. He placed a sheet of paper in front of Foreman's chair, then took one for himself. "What kind of dinosaurs do you like?" he asked.

"T-Rex," Foreman opened the giant box of crayons. "What about you?"

"Minmi," Chase said.

"Cool," Foreman replied. He had never heard of the native Australian dinosaur before and had no idea what to expect or if it was even a real dinosaur name. The two colored for about ten minutes before Foreman asked, "Finished?"

"Almost," Chase said, adding a few finishing touches. He was sitting on his knees in the chair, leaning most of his upper body over the picture as he concentrated on his marks. "There!" he said. He held up his drawing for Foreman to see.

"That's fantastic!" Foreman exaggerated, relieved that Chase had not drawn a perfectly scaled picture worthy of displaying at the pretend museum. He might have cracked if the kid had been an incredible artist in addition to being able to speak three languages and do math in his head. Chase's dinosaur looked sort of like a brown crocodile with warped legs and black dots on its back. The hind quarters were much higher than the front, giving the Minmi an unbalanced design. His own drawing was nothing to brag about either. The huge teeth and tiny front legs made it obvious that he had attempted a T-Rex. Of course his fine motor skills were better than the child's, so his lines were smoother and his details were finer.

"It looks really mad," Chase commented, seeing the huge teeth on Foreman's dinosaur.

"They weren't very nice dinosaurs," Foreman said, noting that Chase was, once again, projecting a wariness of anger. "What do you think would happen if T-Rex met Minmi?"

"He'd probably beat him up," Chase answered. "Then eat him."

"Probably," Foreman nodded. "Let's draw our families next," he suggested, giving Chase a clean sheet of paper.

"Um, okay," Chase agreed, sounding reluctant.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Foreman quizzed.

Chase shook his head.

"I have an older brother," Foreman volunteered.

"I wish I did," Chase answered softly. He continued to work on his picture.

"Brothers can be a pain." Foreman worked on his own picture, but paid more attention to what Chase was drawing. His father was a looming figure on the left side of the picture, facing the edge. He was dressed in all black, what was probably meant to be a business suit. His mother was on the far right side of the picture with something in her overly large hand, facing forward with no real expression, just a straight line for her mouth. Her eyes were just black spots. She was wearing a necklace and bracelet, dangly earrings, and a A-shaped red dress. Chase was a tiny figure equidistant from both parents. His size was disproportional to the adults. He was dressed in blue jeans and a green shirt.

"I think I know what happened," Chase told Foreman as he colored his mother's hair yellow.

"Oh?" Foreman asked, pleased that Chase was starting to speak openly.

"Mum brought me here to get rid of me, just like she said she would."

"Why do you think that?" Foreman was coloring the dress his mother was wearing purple.

"They make babies in the hospital. I saw a whole bunch one day and there were adults standing on the other side of the window pointing to the ones they wanted, just like my Mum when she sees a new pair of shoes. So, I think she went by the baby window one day and picked me, but she changed her mind. Only she lost the receipt or something because she couldn't take me back."

"Chase, I'm sure your mother…" he stopped himself. He was sure Chase's mother what? What he could gather about the woman was that she let her preschooler spend hours with tutors that were destining a naturally bright child to a certain future of social awkwardness with his peers. There was no way this kid would mentally fit in with kids his age. She did nothing to alleviate his fears of anger. For all Foreman knew, she was the angry person Chase feared most. "Wait… she said she was going to get rid of you?"

He nodded. "I messed up everything."

"What did she tell you that you messed up?"

"Her life," Chase answered matter-of-factly.

"How?" Foreman queried.

Chase stopped coloring for a moment. He shrugged, "I don't know, but I was bad. I didn't mean to be."

Foreman furrowed his brow, hesitant to address the picture he was getting from the child. "Chase, does your mom punish you when you're bad?"

Chase did not answer. He put down his yellow crayon and resumed coloring the dress red.

Foreman waited, but Chase was clearly not going to answer him. "Chase, has your mom hurt you?"

Chase put down his crayon and sat back in his chair, legs crossed. He moved the stuffed bunny to his lap. He put her floppy ears over her eyes, then moved them away, then moved them back again.

Foreman was not sure what to do next. The lack of an answer was, for all intents and purposes, a confirmation of his suspicion. "Will you tell me about your picture?" he asked, pointing to the paper in front of the child. He had another moment where it hit him that this was _Chase_.

Chase was unresponsive. He focused on the rabbit.

Undeterred, Foreman put his drawing in front of Chase. "This is my dad, Rodney," he started, pointing to the figure of his father. "He works in a factory." He pointed to his mother next. "This is my mom, Amelia. She helps clean houses. And this is me and my brother Marcus." He pointed to the two boys in the middle. "When we were about your age, we liked riding our bicycles and playing catch in the backyard with our dad. We went to church every Sunday, and Mom would cook a big meal. She makes a really good peach cobbler. Have you ever had peach cobbler?"

Chase shook his head.

"So, that's my family," He put his drawing aside and shoved Chase's toward the edge of the table. "Tell me about yours."

Chase was slow to act on the request. He sat up and pointed to the man, "My Papa. He's a doctor." He pointed to the woman. "Mum." He pointed to the child. "Me."

Foreman nodded. This was like pulling teeth, only more painful.

The door to the room swung open and House marched in, "You were supposed to be at the MRI fifteen minutes ago," he chided. "Come on."

"Give me a minute to clean up," Foreman said, both disappointed and relieved that time had run out on his session with Chase. House gathered the drawings, all four of them, and put them in a file he was carrying. Chase started putting crayons back into the box.

Foreman put the other items back into the shelf, but stopped when only the bear and rabbit were left. "Do you want to keep the rabbit?" he asked. He figured the usual examiners would replace their materials if they disappeared.

Chase seemed to want to say yes, but he shook his head. "I shouldn't." He handed the rabbit back to Foreman after giving her one last pat on the head.

Foreman nodded and took the rabbit, tossing it back into place with the bear. He locked the closet, then followed House who was leading Chase toward the MRI.


	4. Chapter 4

"You have to stay really, really still. Can you do that?" Foreman said. He straightened the pale blue pediatric gown that a nurse had helped "Joey Roberts" put on. The gown was covered with yellow ducks that had bright orange bills. House had insisted on using the moniker when the nurse was present. After all, it would look extremely odd if his team just happened to have a little blond Australian child called Robert Chase. If anyone asked, he would tell them that the kid was Chase's nephew which would also explain why Chase was not able to work on the case. So far, using Roberts as the last name had fended off any questions.

Chase nodded, "I can be still." He watched Foreman straighten his gown. "I like ducks."

"I like ducks too," Foreman agreed, but he moved on with the business at hand. "Okay, here are some earplugs," he said, extending his open palm to the child. "This machine is very loud, so it's important that you wear these to protect your ears. Like this." Foreman demonstrated the right way to use the earplugs by putting a larger pair briefly into his own ears. "Do you need help putting them in?"

Chase shook his head and took the earplugs from Foreman.

"Now, remember, be as still as you can be. And don't be afraid of the noise. Just close your eyes and try to sleep if you can." He checked both sides to make sure Chase had put the earplugs in properly.

Chase nodded that he understood.

Foreman helped position his head correctly in the plastic cradle which was also covered with a thick foam to offer more protection from the noise. "Comfortable?" he asked loudly.

"I'm okay," Chase answered.

"I'm going to be in the other room with House. If you start feeling sick or get scared, you can tell us."

Chase swallowed and nodded. The big machine was a little bit frightening, but he could handle it.

"I'm going send you into the MRI then," Foreman warned. He pressed a button and the table began to move into the machine. "Try to be very still and very quiet."

Foreman joined House in the observation room. They clicked through images of Chase's brain, paying close attention to every image.

"It doesn't look like being regressed caused any physical brain damage," Foreman commented. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He opened his mouth to say something, but saw that House was paying him no attention and did not follow through. Instead he took the microphone and said, "You're doing well, Chase."

A while later, they were looking through images of the child's upper body. House moved closer to the screen and pointed out something, "There. His arm's been broken. We check his medical records. We find out when his arm was broken and maybe we'll know more about what the witch did to him."

Foreman exhaled slowly. "He thinks his mother abandoned him."

"I know," House said, not taking his eyes away from the images flashing before him.

"I think she hurt him," Foreman said. "I didn't do the IQ test because he's already had one. I did some role playing and got him to draw for me. He has classic abused child behaviors."

"You should probably report it to the authorities," House said casually.

"House!" Foreman said his name with disgust. "He's not even old enough to go to school and someone's terrorizing him."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you cared."

"I do care."

"No you don't. That's still Chase."

"I wouldn't wish childhood abuse on anyone. I don't hate the guy."

"If you cared, you would have figured out someone knocked him around when he was a kid long ago."

"You knew?"

"I didn't realize it was taking place this early in his life, but… duh."

"How did you--?"

"We talked."

"He told you?" Foreman asked, one eyebrow arched in surprise. Chase was one of the most guarded people he had ever known and not likely to hand House or anyone else personal information. He wondered if Cameron even knew.

"No. I read between the lines." House pointed out another image, "Those two ribs have been cracked."

Foreman glanced at the image, wondering how that injury had happened and, just as importantly, when. It could have been the same incident that broke the arm or it could have been separate. He snorted bitterly, "So the great Rowan Chase let his wife beat up their kid?"

"He had more important things to deal with." House answered.

"Why aren't you mad?" Foreman asked. "Rowan Chase doesn't deserve to be known as a great doctor--"

"He _was_ a great doctor," House said. "And he was a lousy father." He never looked away from the images.

"A great _doctor_ wouldn't let his kid _suffer_ needlessly," Foreman argued. Annoyed that House was not nearly as bothered by all of this as he was, Foreman decided to speak to Chase again, "How are you doing in there?" he asked.

There was no response.

"Chase?" Foreman called.

"He's probably asleep," House reasoned. He reached for the bottle that was in his pocket, shook a white pill into his hand and then popped it into his mouth.

"Chase," Foreman repeated. When there was still no response he got up and headed toward the MRI, "We should get him out of there."

"He's probably asleep," House repeated, but it did nothing to stop Foreman. Reluctantly, House followed the other man into the exam room, arriving in time to see little boy coming out of the heart of the machine. He was ashen with wet streaks marking where tears had streamed from his tightly clenched eyes.

"It's okay," Foreman said, helping Chase sit up. "What's the matter?"

The child looked far too terrorized to say anything.

Foreman patted his back with one hand while he removed the earplugs with the other. "Do you feel sick?"

Chase nodded his head. "Too loud," he whispered.

"You could have told us you were scared," Foreman reminded him. "A lot of kids get scared. A lot of _adults_ get scared too." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Chase's cheeks.

Chase's eyes were downcast, "I was trying to be good," he explained.

"Being scared doesn't mean you're being bad," Foreman assured him. It bothered him that Chase was not asking for his mother or father. He was four, damn it. He should want a familiar adult to be with him.

"Do I have to go back?" Chase asked timidly.

Foreman looked to House for the answer.

"I think we have what we need," he replied. He absently rubbed his hand against his injured leg.

"Can I go home now?" Chase asked.

House and Foreman exchanged a look. Foreman decided to defer to House for the answer to this question too.

"You're going to have to stay with us for a while longer," House said. It was the vaguest answer he could give.

Chase looked down. "Do you know where my mum is?" He finally asked the question they had been anticipating.

Foreman glanced at House.

"You're so helpful," House bit in a whisper that was meant for only Foreman's ears.

"Is she coming back?" Chase inquired.

House inhaled, weighing his options. He had no idea how long Chase would remain in this form. Nothing on the MRI gave them any clue about the status of his condition. "No," he answered honestly. If he had given Chase any hope that his mother was going to show up looking for him, it would have been all the more cruel if this regression lasted and she never came.

Foreman looked positively aghast at the response. He should not have let House answer.

Chase sucked in his breath and bit his lip as the response settled upon him. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes and his shoulders jerked as he tried to get his breath. A low cry came from his throat and his breath became labored as he started to cry with full force.

Foreman could not bear to watch the youngster crying all alone, so he reached out to him. "It's going to be okay," he soothed.

Chase threw his thin arms around the man's waist holding on tightly.

Foreman patted the top of his head, letting his hand rest on the blond locks. "We're going to take care of you," he promised.

"I-- I-- tried to be-- good," Chase choked out.

"You are good," Foreman said, patting his heaving shoulders. "You're smart and polite and your mom couldn't have asked for anyone better."

"Why doesn't-- she-- love me?" he asked.

"She's a stupid bitch," House answered before Foreman had a chance to respond.

Chase's eyes widened as if he were surprised to hear House say a bad word. He sniffed and then wailed, "I want my Mummy!" He grabbed Foreman even more tightly.

"Brilliant," Foreman spat, glaring at House as he tried to soothe Chase again. He wondered why Chase wanted his Mum if she really was the one who hurt him.

House shrugged. "He sure does cry a lot."

It was at that moment that Cameron decided to make her grand entrance into the MRI room. "What's going on?" she asked, rushing to Chase. "What's wrong?"

"I want my Mummy," Chase cried, turning his attention to Cameron. Foreman let him go, so he grabbed onto her instead. "I want my Mummy to come back, but he said she's not coming back. I promise I'll be good. Please make her come back!"

"Why did you tell him that?" Cameron snapped at Foreman.

"I didn't!" Foreman corrected her. "Mr. Sensitivity there did."

Cameron turned on House, "How could you?"

"It's the truth," House told her. "Look, kid, snap out of it. She's not coming back. You're stuck with us for now and if you don't shut up, we're not going to put up with you either."

Both Cameron and Foreman's jaws fell open. Sure, House could be cruel, especially when his leg was hurting more than normal, but this was something neither would have ever expected.

Chase buried his face against Cameron's stomach, gripping the material of her shirt in his fists. She rubbed his back as he continued to cry, albeit quietly. "He doesn't know what he's talking about," Cameron told him. "It's okay to be scared and we're going to take care of you."

"Jerk," Foreman scowled. "He was already upset by the MRI," he explained to Cameron. "The noise was too much for him and it made him feel sick, so he asked for his mother." He turned to House, frowning and accentuated every word, "_A four year old made a reasonable request for his mother._ Only now he knows his mother isn't going to come back."

House sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, realizing he had gone too far.

Chase refused to look at him, still snuggling against Cameron for comfort.

House reached out and shook his shoulder, "Chase, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Chase flinched at the touch.

"Look at me," House told him authoritatively.

Chase warily peaked at him with one eye, keeping the side of his head firmly planted against Cameron.

"I didn't mean it," he repeated. "Okay?"

Chase only looked at him with his eyes shining.

"Okay?"

Chase swallowed and nodded, then buried his face in Cameron's shirt again.

"Good going, House," Cameron huffed. "Come on, Chase." She picked him up, balancing his weight on one hip. He hung onto her, both arms reaching up and his hands clasp behind her neck.

"Where do you think you're going?" House asked, following them.

Cameron spun around, "Home."

"You can't take him home with you!" House told her.

"Why the hell not?"

"We need to keep him here for observation."

"I'm not letting you treat him like a guinea pig."

"He needs to be observed. He couldn't even stand when he first woke up. For all we know, this could have damaged his heart or lungs. And I don't think it's appropriate for him to go home with you anyway given your _relationship_."

"What does our relationship have to do with anything?" Cameron snapped.

"It's… _weird_ for you to take him home."

"He's four. I hope you're not implying--" she stopped, disgusted. "Because if you are, I'm going to kick your sorry crippled ass right here and now."

"Language!" Foreman reminded them, piping up from where he was still standing by the MRI. From Chase's expression every time someone uttered a curse word, he was getting the impression that profanity was frowned upon in the Chase household.

"Stop being self-righteous. You'd feel really guilty if you took him home, tucked him in, and he went into cardiac arrest wouldn't you?"

Cameron had to admit House was right. The potential physical damage this could have done was limitless and not necessarily going to show up immediately. "Fine, we'll keep him here for a while for observation."

"I thought you'd see it my way."

"But then what do we do?" Cameron asked, playing out different scenarios in her mind. What would happen when they decided Chase could go home? He could not very well survive on his own. They either had to find a way to change him back or one of them was going to have to take responsibility for a orphaned child.

"I have no idea," House answered. "No idea at all."

_AN: Now, y'all didn't think House was going to immediately be _good_ at dealing with a four year old, did you? ;-) Thanks for the feedback! It's been really encouraging and inspiring! _


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not sick," Chase said as Cameron helped him settle into the hospital bed. He was still wearing the duck covered pediatric gown that he had worn for his MRI.

"We want to make sure," Cameron responded, patting his arm.

"I don't _feel_ sick," he reiterated.

"I'm glad," she patted his head, mindful that she was treating him like a puppy. She was unsure of what else to do to show that she cared.

"You know what?" Chase asked.

"What?" Cameron could not help but smile at his demeanor.

"Everyone here talks funny."

She said nothing for a minute. Chase thought he was lost in a Melbourne hospital. He had already learned that his mum was not going to come back for him. She wondered if he could handle the news that he was in a foreign country too. "You think so?" she asked.

He nodded.

It cut her to the core. That little face was Chase. Sure the hair was lighter and the eyes seemed bigger, but that was her Chase. There was no point in even doing a DNA test, not really. There was no doubt in her mind.

She could not let herself think about what he meant to her. He was no longer that person. He did not even remember her or what they were to each other. Cameron continued to fuss over his pillows and covers, avoiding addressing the implied question on his mind while a million of her own weighed upon her.

Chase looked out the window. It was dark outside, but there were lights shining in the parking lot.

"Let me shut those blinds so you can get some sleep," Cameron offered. Suddenly she feared he would look at the skyline or the parking lot and declare that it did not look like Australia. After she had done that, she came back to his bedside. "Is there anything you need?" She noticed that he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. "It's okay to ask," she said.

"Can I have some milk?"

"Of course you can!" Cameron exclaimed, realizing the kid had not had a bite to eat in hours. They had gotten him into a room after dinner rounds had been made and it never crossed her mind to get him something to eat. "I bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

He nodded, but avoided looking at her.

"Chase, it _really_ is okay to tell us if you need something," she assured him. "What kind of things do you like to eat?"

"I--" he stopped. A full minute passed. "I don't remember," he frowned.

Cameron tilted her head as she studied him. Surely this was an abnormal reaction to the regression. She knew that Chase tended to eat healthy foods as an adult, but she doubted the four year old in front of her would touch a piece of sushi or a salad.

"I like potatoes," he decided, sounding less than sure of himself.

"What kind of potatoes?" she asked, seeing if he would answer or if his memory had other holes in it.

"All kinds!" he answered.

"Well, in that case, I think I should be able to find you something." She smiled to herself. Chase _did_ like all kinds of potatoes.

"Cammie?"

Her heart was warmed by her new nickname. "What, baby?"

"Is my Papa going to come see me when he gets off work?"

Much to Cameron's relief, Foreman came through the door holding a bag from the hospital's gift shop.

"Hey, Little Man," Foreman smiled. "Are you feeling better?"

Chase nodded.

"I got you something," Foreman extended his arm and offered the bag to Chase.

Chase took the bag from him, "Really?" he asked, stunned. "For me?"

"All for you," Foreman smiled. "See what's inside."

Chase gasp as he pulled a plush black cat from the bag. It had neon green plastic eyes and an orange bow around its neck.

"I tried to find a rabbit, but I guess it's the wrong time of year," Foreman apologized.

"It's the best present ever!" Chase exclaimed, hugging the cat. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

Cameron smirked as she watched the exchange between her two colleagues.

"What?" Foreman asked defensively.

"Nothing," she smiled. "I think it's _sweet_." She had to fight to keep from laughing. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Foreman frowned at her. "I thought he might enjoy something to snuggle up with, seeing as how he has to be in the hospital over night." He decided to not add, _And House scared the hell out of him and told him his mother has abandoned him._

"Really," Cameron said seriously. "It's very thoughtful of you."

Foreman nodded.

"Do you want to stay with him for a few minutes so I can find him something to eat?"

"Sure," Foreman agreed. "Hey, bring me something while you're at it."

Cameron rolled her eyes as she left the room.

"What was the big loud machine for?" Chase asked as Foreman sat on the foot of the bed. He moved the orange bow on the cat's neck to different positions, amusing himself with the different ways it looked.

"It let us look at all your insides," Foreman answered. He reached over and tickled Chase's stomach for a second. "All your gooey, gooey insides."

Chase squirmed and giggled, "Gross."

Foreman laughed. "Not really." He was pleased that Chase did not flinch when he touched him.

"What were you looking for?" Chase asked, investigating the cat's whiskers.

Foreman thought it interesting that Chase liked to ask a lot of questions, but often asked without making eye contact. He was just as shy as he was inquisitive. "We looked at your bones and your blood vessels and your heart and your lungs and your kidneys, even your liver."

Chase wrinkled his brow at the list. "I know what a heart and bones are."

"You do?" Foreman asked. He had the mental image of Rowan Chase pointing to a diagram of the human body trying to teach his two-year old son anatomy.

"Your heart is where Jesus lives. It's right here." He pointed to his chest. "And a bone is… well, I don't know _what_ it is, exactly. But it can break."

Foreman nodded. He knew he had to ask if Chase remembered breaking his arm. The answer would help them establish a timeline.

"Chickens have bones." Chase announced. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Foreman quizzed.

"There are boneless chickens too," Chase explained. "That's how they make chicken nuggets."

Foreman wanted to laugh. Little Chase was so sure of this postulate. But Foreman feared that he would hurt Chase's feelings if he laughed and then Chase would stop talking altogether. The child in front of him was a bit of a dichotomy. He understood a lot more than he should, but when it came down to it, he was still four. He made a mental note to ask Chase about boneless chickens when he returned to his adult state though. _If _he returned to his adult state, that is.

"Fish have bones too."

"That's right, fish do have lots of bones and you have to be really careful when you eat fish."

"I don't like fish. It stinks." He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"A lot of kids don't like fish, but then like it when they grow up."

"Not me," Chase answered. "It'll still be stinky."

"Oh," Foreman nodded, further amused since he knew Chase well enough to know that he enjoyed seafood. He had never given a lot of thought to how his own eating habits had changed from when he was a child, but he could imagine himself as a four year old declaring that pizza was nasty. "You said that a bone can break," Foreman reminded him.

Chase hugged the cat to his chest and stroked its back.

"Did you ever break a bone?"

Chase concentrated on the toy. "We should pick out a name," he said. "My granny has a cat named Molly. Is this a boy cat or a girl cat?"

"Chase," Foreman took his little hand in his own. "Please answer me. The truth." His stomach gave a little lurch. "Have you ever broken a bone?"

Chase nodded without making eye contact.

"How did it happen?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know."

"I think you _do_ know," Foreman told him firmly.

Chase patted the stuffed animal.

"I know it can be hard to talk about. Can you be brave for me?"

Chase shook his head. "Not supposed to tell."

Foreman felt a surge of anger in his gut. This child had already been well-trained to protect the abuser.

"What will happen if you tell?" He reached out and squeezed Chase's shoulder.

"She'll get mad," Chase whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Who will?"

Chase played with the cat's left front paw, bouncing it up and down.

"Please tell me," Foreman urged.

"I fell and hurt my arm," Chase answered.

"Where did you fall?" He asked, assuming that _fell_ probably meant something closer to _I was pushed._

"Down the stairs," Chase whispered.

Foreman nodded. That would explain both the arms and the ribs. "Why did someone want you to keep it a secret?"

"Because I'm stupid and clumsy."

"I don't believe that," Foreman told him. He placed his fingers under Chase's chin and made him look upward. "You're definitely not stupid and you don't seem too clumsy to me either."

Chase looked away, despite Foreman's attempt to keep eye contact.

"I think someone pushed you down those stairs and then blamed you for what they did."

Chase bit his lower lip. He nodded ever so slightly.

"Who pushed you?" Foreman knew it would be easier to just ask Chase if it was his mother, but he would find the real truth if he made Chase come up with the answer on his own.

"My mum," Chase whispered as if saying it softly was almost like not saying it at all. "I'm not supposed to tell."

"I'm glad you told me," Foreman patted his back, then gave him a hug. "I won't let anyone hurt you." He shook his head as he imagined a three year old tumbling down stairs. _Why?_ he asked in his mind. _Who does such a thing? Why didn't your father do something?_ He had to assume Rowan believed whatever story his wife had told him and, of course, Chase was too scared to tell him the truth.

Chase clung to him again and Foreman found that he was getting used to it. He knew the promise he had just made was empty. It was not as if he had to protect Chase from his dead mother. Foreman sighed, patting Chase's back. If he was this beaten down at the age of four, how bad had things gotten? A lot of damage could be inflicted in fifteen or so years.

"She didn't mean to," Chase explained, his voice muffled by Foreman's shirt that he was firmly pressed against. "She loves me."

"She shouldn't have hurt you," Foreman told him. "It's not okay."

"Is that why she isn't coming back?"

"I… don't know what the answer to that is," Foreman told him. He could not expect Chase to understand that he was really twenty-some odd years into his own future. _Time travel?_ he asked himself. _Is that how she got you here? _He shook his head. Since when did Eric Foreman consider time travel in a differential diagnosis?

"I have McDonald's!" Cameron exclaimed coming back into the room. "Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, seeing Chase holding onto Foreman again.

"Nothing," Foreman answered.

Chase settled back into the pillows and Cameron pulled the bed table over him. She pulled several items from the bag she was carrying.

"A burger for you, and one for me, and here you go, Chase. A Happy Meal."

"What's a Happy Meal?" he asked.

"Fries, chicken nuggets, and chocolate milk," Cameron explained as she set the items in front of him. "I thought you might like something to go with your potatoes."

"Thanks!" Chase said, reaching for a fry.

"Yeah, thanks," Foreman added, already eating his Quarter Pounder.

"I hope it's okay. All the cafeteria has this late are pre-made sandwiches and salads. Do you like chicken nuggets?"

Chase nodded, though he had only eaten fries so far.

"They're made from boneless chickens, aren't they, Buddy?"

Chase nodded again, then decided to try one of the nuggets.

Cameron thought it was a silly question, but said nothing. Since when did Foreman call Chase, "Buddy"? Why was little Chase so fond of Foreman? And the bigger question was probably why was Foreman so fond of little Chase? "I'm going to have to do an extra hour on my treadmill," she commented as she finished her hamburger. She saw that Chase had eaten all of his fries and shook some from her carton into his McNugget box. "You like the fries better than the chicken, don't you?"

"They're both good," Chase told her. "My mum doesn't let me have stuff like this. She said it's bad for you."

"She's right," Cameron told him. "This is a rare treat."

"_Why_ is it bad?" Chase quizzed them.

"Fat, sodium, calories, cholesterol." Foreman listed.

"Cho-_what_?" Chase asked.

"Cholesterol," Foreman repeated.

"What's that?"

"Uh," Foreman sighed. If Rowan Chase ever had gotten out the anatomy diagram it was probably because his son asked too many questions with complicated answers. "It's stuff that makes you sick if you eat too much of it."

"Are we eating too much?" Chase asked, looking suspiciously at the two nuggets left in the box.

"Not yet," Foreman answered. "Just enjoy your supper. You can worry about your cholesterol later."

"Okay," Chase agreed. "I like Happy Meals."

"I never thought I'd hear those words coming from that mouth," House responded as he interrupted their dinner. "Where's _my_ Happy Meal?" he asked. "Didn't think about your poor old boss slaving away over scans and files, did you?"

"You can have my chicken nuggets," Chase offered, holding up the little box to offer them to House. "But watch out for cole-_something_. What's it called?" he asked Foreman.

Foreman could not hold back his laughter at that point. It was funny enough that Chase wanted to know what cholesterol was, but to warn House about it while offering him two chicken nuggets was just too surreal to believe. "Cholesterol," he choked out. "Watch out for the cholesterol."

"He can get something from the cafeteria," Cameron told Chase. "You finish your supper."

"Didn't take you long to put on the Mommy Hat did it?" House asked her. "Are you going to spank him if he doesn't behave?"

Foreman happened to be watching Chase while House was talking and he clearly saw fear when House mentioned spanking. "House, shut up," he barked, looking pointedly from House back to Chase. "No one here is going to be spanking anyone."

"You're disgusting," Cameron muttered. The innuendo was not lost on her. House had no idea how much he was twisting the knife in her gut. It was killing her to see Chase like this, not knowing if they would find a way to fix whatever had happened.

"I think we should go discuss your findings," Foreman said. It was code for _I think we should go discuss my findings._

"Chase, we'll be back soon," Cameron told him, starting to rise.

"I think you should stay with him," Foreman suggested. He was still unsure about letting Cameron know about Chase's mother.

Cameron looked insulted. "Why? Maybe I can help."

"Do you think he should be left alone?" Foreman asked.

"Then you stay. You're his buddy."

"I'm the neurologist, remember?"

"You did not just say that to me."

"Would you two shut up?" House said, putting a halt to their bickering. "He's going to start crying again!"

Both turned to look at their sullen little patient.

"What's the matter?" Cameron asked sweetly.

"No one wants to stay with me," he answered. He turned onto his side, held firmly onto the toy cat, and buried his face in his pillow. "It's okay. I can stay by myself." The shaky way he inhaled let them know he really was not okay.

"Go on," Cameron told the men, knowing she had lost the battle. She sat down on the bed next to him. "I'll stay with Chase." Soon Chase was comfortably settled with his head on her chest. She softly stroked his hair as he fell asleep. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. "Somehow."

_AN: Thanks for the reviews and support. It inspires me to keep going, even on a story that I myself question the sanity of! LOL_


	6. Chapter 6

"He _fell_ down the stairs," Foreman informed House, making pretend quotation marks with his fingers. "He's already broken his arm and cracked his ribs, so this isn't adult Chase shrunken into four year old Chase."

House slid a file across the table to Foreman. "Medical history. He was a rather accident prone child."

"How'd you get this much detail?" Foreman asked, shocked at the depth of the folder.

"His father worked at the same hospital for thirty years. His pediatrician and ENT were on the staff there." It also helped that the Medical Centre had converted old files to computer storage so sharing the information had been as easy as getting authorization to send an e-mail of previously scanned documents.

House waited quietly while Foreman perused the file. He watched Foreman's expression as he read. He became more and more agitated the deeper into the file he got.

"I hate this," Foreman announced.

"What?"

"Digging into Chase's life. If he were any other patient, it wouldn't bother me, but this is our colleague and we don't have any right to know this much about him."

"You can stop reading any time."

"Why the hell didn't someone ever call Child Services or whatever they have in Australia?" Foreman huffed. "Concussion at five, stitches at seven, another concussion at eight. Don't they see a pattern?"

"Damn trees," House cursed. One of the concussions and the need for stitches had both been attributed to falling out of trees. The other concussion was caused by a football, supposedly.

"Can't you be serious for five seconds?" Foreman asked. "Doesn't it matter to you at all?"

House got up from the conference table and went to his desk. He twirled his cane in his hand as he leaned against the desktop. "Of course it matters. There's just not a damn thing we can do about it." He paused, thoughtfully. "But it looks like the Chase we have hasn't been through most of this yet." He started to wonder if this regression might somehow impact Chase even when, if, he became an adult again.

"We can't change history," Foreman sighed.

"Tell that to Ivana Whit."

Foreman leaned back in his chair as he thought about what House had just said. "So, she did change history…" he mused. "Chase doesn't have to grow up with _that woman_," he said the last two words with such disdain that it took House aback.

"Are you suggesting we keep him this way so he doesn't have to remember his mother?"

Foreman shrugged. "Would that be so bad?"

"Are you insane?" House raised his voice. "He is an adult. And his mother may have been an abusive bitch, but she was his mother and you can't rob him of his life with her. He loved her no matter what," House reminded Foreman. He thought to himself about the contrast between Chase's devotion to his mother and his own lack of devotion to his father. "You can't rob him of the work he put into medical school and getting to be where he is right now either."

"I'm not the one who made him four."

"We have to fix it."

"What if we can't fix it?" Foreman asked. "Do you plan on sprinkling some Miracle-Gro in his food? Because the last time I checked I can't do magic and you can't do magic." He shook his head. "Actually, the last time I checked, I didn't even _believe_ in magic."

House sighed. "I don't know." A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence before he asked, "How's he acting? Any strange behavior?"

"Any normal four year old would be crying his eyes out for his parents and Chase is taking this being alone pretty well, other than not wanting everyone to leave him a few minutes ago." Foreman thought Chase's lack of attachment to his parents qualified as strange behavior.

"Any more trouble walking?"

Foreman shook his head, "Not that I've seen. I'm guessing his legs were numb from the transformation or the way he was sleeping."

"It wasn't from the way he was sleeping." House said confidently. "What else have you noticed?"

Foreman leaned forward again. "He's smart."

House rolled his eyes. "If he was _really_ an idiot, I wouldn't have hired him."

"I know anyone who gets through medical school has got something going for him, but Chase is _really_ smart. _Freakishly_ smart."

"Really, what kid doesn't want to be a freak?" House interrupted.

Foreman continued, "It's like he wants to understand everything going on around him. He wants to know what things do and why they do it and he seems to retain a good bit of what you tell him. He's further along Piaget's continuum than any other four year old I've ever met. But he's almost as shy as he is smart. He never makes eye contact when he asks about a new subject."

House huffed. "Asking a lot of questions is sure to annoy parents who don't want to deal with an inquisitive kid," he stated. The other man had no idea how well House knew from experience the truth of his statement.

Foreman shook his head, imagining the child stuck in a situation where his father was going overboard encouraging his intellectual growth and his mother was trying to stifle his curiosity, perhaps with violence.

"Has he asked for his father?" House inquired.

"Not when he was talking to me," Foreman answered.

"Which means that Daddy is probably absent most of the time," House assumed. "Chase isn't used to expecting him to be around."

"Any fine motor problems?"

Foreman shook his head. "He held the crayons and made marks like a normal four year old. He drew more details than a normal four year old, but his physical ability was normal."

"Everything seems to be working like it's supposed to," House concluded.

"So far," Foreman said. "She said she wanted you to know what medicine couldn't fix everything, right?" he asked.

House nodded.

"Do you think she's going to make him sick?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you think she's part of a coven or something? Maybe people who knew her would know what she did and how she did it."

"Not hardly. She has no ethics. She's not part of any organized, civil, sane group. That kind of person doesn't follow anyone else's code of conduct. She makes her own rules."

"Hmmm," Foreman looked down at the file. "Sounds like someone else I know."

"Hey, I might make my own rules, but I've never taken a kid away form his parents… or his decade before."

"So, we're back to trying to figure out how she did it so we can undo it."

"I guess they didn't cover this at Hopkins?"

"I was absent that day. My best theory is time travel."

House chuckled. "Why, Chase, you've tanned."

"You've got something better?"

"I'm high as hell," he shrugged.

Foreman made a sound like a game show buzzer. "Try again. I'm perfectly lucid."

"Your argument fails because I would hallucinate that you would say you were lucid."

"So, you're high and Chase is time traveling? I suppose Cameron is in a coma dreaming that she's Chase's new mommy?"

"That makes as much sense as any of this."

"Great. I'm going home to be in the real world then."

As though his pager had a mind of its own, Foreman's beeper started tweeting, followed immediately by the beeping of House's pager.

"It's Cameron," House read.

They found Chase's bed empty when they returned to his room.

"Cameron, Chase," House called.

"In here," they heard Cameron say inside the bathroom.

House pushed the door open and saw that Cameron was watching over Chase as he emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl.

"He started this about twenty minutes ago. He barely gets back to the bed before we have to rush back in here." She rubbed Chase's back.

"Get some phenergan," House told Foreman. "Wouldn't it be easier to let him throw up in a bedpan?"

"He doesn't want to make a mess," Cameron explained.

"It hurts," Chase whined as his stomach had another spasm.

"He's dry heaving," Cameron told them. "It's going to be okay," she tried to soothe him.

"I see that," House observed. "Why didn't you get the medicine yourself?"

"I thought you should know what was going on. And since I don't know what was on the MRI, I didn't want to give him any kind of medication without consulting you. I also don't know if he has any allergies."

"Oh. Good thinking."

Cameron rolled her eyes.

Foreman came back carrying a shot and offered it to House.

"You can administer a shot," House scowled.

Foreman offered the syringe to Cameron. "You do it."

Cameron looked from Foreman down to Chase who was, once again, holding tightly onto her. She was, by default, the person he was turning to as a maternal figure. "Because I've got nothing else to do," she snapped. "Let's try to lie down again," she cooed to Chase as she picked him up to take him back to the bed.

Foreman followed with the shot.

Cameron helped Chase settle into the bed again.

"Chase, I need to give you a shot," Foreman told him. "Have you ever had a shot before?" he asked. He knew the answer to the question was _yes_, but he did want to prepare the little boy for what was coming.

Chase just groaned a response.

"This is going to burn a little bit, but it will make your stomach feel better and help you get to sleep." He tore open a packet that held an alcohol soaked pad. "Turn over on your side."

Cameron turned him more than Chase turned himself.

Foreman pushed one side of the duck covered gown over just enough to inject the syringe. He could have sworn the ducks were staring accusingly at him. _I feel like a perv_, he thought. _Am I the only one who remembers this is Chase?_ Clearly, Cameron was the one who should be administering any shots.

House brought a wad of wet paper towels from the bathroom and handed them to Cameron who pressed them against Chase's forehead.

If she had not felt so sorry for her little patient, she would have been quite perturbed at the way the men were treating her like a nurse.

"Mummy?" Chase said softly. "I'm sick."

"What's his temp?" Foreman asked.

"One hundred point eight the last time I checked," Cameron answered as she offered him the toy cat. He loosely held onto it with one hand. "Do you think he's hallucinating?"

"I think he's sick and we just gave him some of the good stuff," House answered. "And he's four. He's supposed to want his mother. I believe you pointed that out to me earlier."

"I think he's asleep," Cameron observed. His eyelids were shut and his breathing had become regular.

"It doesn't take long with phenergan." Foreman said. "Do you think the food made him sick?" he asked.

"I've felt kind of lousy since I ate," Cameron shrugged. "And he's really not used to that kind of high-fat, high-sodium crap. His mother was smart to not let him eat fast food," she said. "I screwed up." She looked at House, "Go ahead and say it--I'd make a terrible mother. He needs his real mom, not a pathetic substitute."

Foreman saw that Cameron was on the verge of tears. "You didn't screw up. And you can't be any worse than his real mother, anyway."

Cameron looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Foreman said, wanting to kick himself. In trying to make Cameron feel better, he had said too much.

"Don't _nothing_ me. You wouldn't have said that unless you believed it, so why do you believe it?"

"She let him spend all his time with tutors and he's way too young for that. He hasn't even had a childhood."

"For some reason I think that was more his father's doing," Cameron said. "Chase told me once that his dad had always had high expectations for him."

"And what has he told you about his mother?" House asked, curious if Cameron even knew that she had been an alcoholic.

She shrugged. "He won't talk about her. He said she died when he was in _year twelve_, as he puts it. I asked what she died from and he said he didn't want to talk about it."

"Liver failure," House supplied.

Foreman gave House a harsh look, wondering why the other man was telling Cameron things that were not his place to tell her. In his opinion, they should be treating Cameron like a family member, not like an attending physician in this case. In that respect, they should be protecting Chase's privacy.

"Liver failure?" she repeated.

"She OD'd on gin."

Cameron took in what he was saying and shook her head, "Are you saying she was an alcoholic?"

"He really never told you?" House asked, rubbing a little bit of salt in the wound.

"Why would he tell her?" Foreman interrupted, overcome with the foreign desire to protect Chase. "It's not like telling her would change anything. He probably just wanted to move on with his life instead of focusing on the past. If he wanted to forget about it, talking about it would have been counterproductive."

"He told you?" Cameron asked. Knowing that House knew before her did not bother her because he was House and he had probably figured it out on his own or snooped into Chase's past. But Foreman was not perceptive enough to figure out something like that, so why in the world would Chase have ever shared something so personal with him.

"No, he didn't tell me. House did." He added, "Today," to ensure that she knew he had not been keeping secrets from her.

"Why is it relevant?" Cameron asked, forcing herself to refrain from reacting emotionally in front of House and Foreman. They had no right to know just how hurt she was that Chase had not trusted her with this part of his life. She was willing to consider the idea that he might not want to talk about a painful subject. She could understand that because she rarely ever mentioned her first husband to him. But now that she knew, she could not pretend that she did not know and when Chase was back to his adult self, they would have to at least acknowledge that she knew the truth and it was quite possible that that would not go over very well with Chase. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, why are _we_ talking about it? Why did it come up today?"

Foreman looked to House, waiting for him to answer since he was the one who had decided to inform Cameron.

"His MRI showed that he has had a broken arm and cracked ribs."

Cameron nodded.

"His mother caused that."

Cameron was stunned. "What do you mean?"

"She pushed him down the stairs," Foreman told her. He sat on the foot of the bed so he would be more level with Cameron.

"How do you know?" she asked, holding back her tears. She looked down at the small child wondering how his own mother could have done such a heinous thing.

"I got Chase to trust me enough to tell me," Foreman answered. "House got his medical files and it confirms the timeline."

She closed her eyes and shook her head for a moment, getting her bearings. "How's the rest of the file?"

"Thick," House answered. "There's a definite pattern."

Cameron took the wet paper towels from Chase's forehead and gently brushed them over his cheeks. "Why didn't he tell me?" she asked softly, knowing that the only person who could answer that was unable to do so at the moment.

"He's probably ashamed," House said. "It's bad enough to get beat up when you're a kid. It's got to be even worse if your mom is the one doing it."

Neither Cameron nor Foreman considered for a moment that House might have been speaking from his own experience. It all sounded hypothetical enough in his phrasing.

Cameron felt tears slipping down her cheeks, but she did not even bother to wipe them away. Chase did not owe her any explanations or any personal history, but it hurt her not only that he had been through abuse at the hands of his own mother but that he had not been comfortable talking about it with her. She questioned whether it was something about him or something about her that had kept him from opening up about his past.

"Why did you tell me?" she asked. "You didn't have to let me know _how_ he broke his arm even if I did get a chance to see the MRI."

"It was either tell you or try to keep you in the dark while we try to figure this thing out. Frankly, we need all three of us working on it," House answered. "You can get all the weepy stuff out of your system overnight and we'll figure out how the hell to get him back to normal tomorrow."

Cameron had spent too much time with House to be affected by his lack of sensitivity. "What if he gets sick again?"

"Page me. Be mindful of his heart and respiration. For some reason I suspect that going from thirty to four would strain the heart, not that I can conduct the _Journal of American Medicine _to be sure."

"I'll stay in the on-call room overnight," Foreman offered. "We can watch him in shifts. Let me know when you get tired and I'll take over watching him."

"Great. You two can handle it. I'm going home."

_AN: Thanks to those who are reading and reviewing. I'm sorry it's taken so long to update. House will have a more prevalent role in the following chapters. ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

__

AN: As a matter of fact, I **am** going **there**. LOL Both this and the next part are short, but I hope you will like them.

"Congratulations! It's a boy!" Cuddy announced bursting into House's office with a printout from the lab. Wilson followed behind her since they had met in the hallway, both on their way to see House.

House shrugged. "We already know it's really Chase at this point." He, Cameron, and Foreman had been discussing, once again, how they had no idea what to do to make Chase an adult again. Foreman's Miracle-Gro idea was starting to look like it had merit and that in itself had them all a little depressed even if Cameron was the only one who would admit it. Chase had been nausea free since the injection and, as far as they knew, was still sleeping.

"Did you already know that he's your son?" Cuddy asked, jerking the papers back since House was uninterested in them. She was probably enjoying this far more than she should have.

Shocked by the announcement, both Cameron and Foreman turned to see the reaction.

"He's not my son."

"Tell that to your ninety-nine point nine -eight matching DNA samples."

"I didn't give you a DNA sample."

"No, but you and Chase both gave a sample to the research department when they were looking for a gene linked to musical inclination. I told the lab to run a test on the sample we got from _Joey_ and compare it to the sample for _Dr. Chase_. The geneticist who ran the test knew that he already had a sample for Chase in his database so in order to save time on my rush job, he searched his database for a matching sample. Imagine his surprise when he found a one hundred percent match between Joey and Chase and a ninety-nine percent match between Joey and you. I bet he looked a lot like you do right now."

House snatched the paper. "This isn't possible." He studied it. The numbers certainly indicated that he was Chase's father.

"You never had sex?" Cuddy asked, her tone dripping sarcasm.

"Not with his mother."

"Are you sure?"

"I never banged an Australian hottie. I'd remember that." His expression fell. "Oh, wait…" He scrutinized the results. "There was this blonde in Florida one spring break. I thought she was British. She said she was getting married in a few weeks and wanted one last hurrah."

"Pig," Cameron frowned.

"Who am I to deny a woman one last fling?" he asked. It was Florida. It was Spring Break. Everyone there had one thing on their mind. He had never given the woman a second thought.

"So, she slept with you, but decided to marry Rowan Chase anyway," Foreman concluded.

House caught the implication that she had not been impressed with him. "Or she slept with me, found out she was pregnant, and took a chance that she was marrying the kid's father or that he wouldn't notice that Junior didn't get _his_ nose."

"It's possible that you are his father?" Wilson asked. "This isn't just something else that Ivana is responsible for? If she could make him a kid again, couldn't she change his DNA?"

"At this point, I believe anything is possible," House answered. "God exists. Bigfoot exists. There was a second gunman. OJ is innocent. It's all possible."

"This is good," Wilson said. One could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.

"Why?" House asked.

"Because it gives you claim to that four year old in room four-twenty-two. One of us needs that. Otherwise, as soon as someone figures out this kid has no family, they will call Social Services and they'll take him away."

"Are you suggesting that I start playing Daddy?"

"You ARE Daddy," Cuddy reminded him.

"So, in addition to telling him his mother isn't coming back, we should tell him that his father who isn't his father isn't coming back either but he gets me as a consolation prize?"

"It's better than, _Hey, Kid, both your parents and your grandmother are dead and, by the way, you're in a foreign country and have no one to take care of you,_" Foreman said.

"Grandmother?" Cameron repeated.

"He mentioned that she had a cat named Millie," Foreman explained. "Or Molly. Or Holly. I don't know. Anyway, he'll be expecting her to show up."

"You _are_ better than having no family at all," Cameron figured.

"And you say it with such enthusiasm," House frowned.

"We need more proof that you're his father," Wilson mused, paying little attention to the others.

House held up the DNA results. "How much proof do you need?"

"No. I mean a birth certificate or a custody agreement with his mother signing over parental rights or something to show you haven't just snatched the kid from his mom."

"Like anyone would suspect me of snatching a child for the fun of it."

Wilson sighed. "The people at Social Services don't know you."

"How would you get something like that?" Cameron asked, inadvertently looking to Foreman.

"They got me on theft, not fraud," he clarified dryly, clearly offended by the way she cast her eyes.

"I'll take care of it," Wilson offered without explanation.

"How?"

"I'll take care of it," he repeated again, withholding any hint of how he would do so.

No one pressed for further information. It was probably better that they not know.

"I guess this means you'll be taking him home," Cameron assumed.

"You can have him," House offered. "Maybe he should grow up with a nice mommy instead of me."

She shook her head. "I'm not his mommy."

"But he likes you more than me, _Cammie_."

"I can't." Cameron got to her feet quickly and fled the room.

"Who's going after her?" Wilson asked.

Foreman sighed heavily. "I will." He left in no hurry to find the woman.

"I guess you should go break the news to Chase," Cuddy suggested.

"You make it sound like I'm going to tell him he's dying in which case Wilson should be the one to tell him."

"Both of you go," Cuddy ordered them, then made her own exit.

"You're coming with me right?" House checked.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	8. Chapter 8

House and Wilson found Chase going through the stations on the TV with the remote control. As the two doctors entered the room, he paused on a soap opera and looked up, watching them both warily.

"How are you feeling?" House asked.

"Better. Can I go home now?"

"That's what we came to talk to you about," House replied.

Wilson was surprised that House was not making him do all the talking.

"Is Papa going to come get me?"

House sat in the chair next to the bed and Wilson sat on the foot of the bed and turned off the television.

"We have to tell you something that may be very hard to understand, even for someone as smart as you." House told him as gently as he could.

Chase looked from the now off television to House. "Okay."

"Your Papa can't come get you."

"Why not?"

"He just can't," House said, doubting Chase would accept that answer, but hoping he would.

"Then my Granny will come get me. I like staying with Granny. She'll like my kitty." He held up the toy for a moment so they could see it. "Foreman got it for me," Chase said proudly.

"Your grandmother can't come get you either." House tucked away the information about the stuffed animal to use it against Foreman later.

"My Granny loves me no matter what. She'll come get me," Chase argued. "I know her phone number. I can call her." He reached for the phone that was near his bed, but House leaned over from his chair and pulled the phone out of his reach.

"I'm sure she would if she could, but she really _can't_." House told him. "You're in the United States and that's a really, really long way from Australia where you came from."

"I want to go home," Chase whined. "I miss my family."

"This is your new home," House said. He could tell from the way Chase kept shifting his eyes that hew as having a difficult time understanding.

"Why?" Chase asked. He swallowed and blinked rapidly, looking from House to Wilson back to House.

Crap. He's going to start crying again, House thought, hoping Wilson would bail him out. "You've come to live with me," he announced, trying to sound happy about it.

"Why?"

"I'm your father."

Chase frowned and shook his head. "Papa is my father."

"No. I am."

"No. Papa is."

"No. I am."

"No," Chase started, but Wilson interrupted.

"We did a test," Wilson explained. "It showed that House is your father so he has--_wants_ to take care of you now."

"But… no." Chase said. "I want my Granny. She loves me."

"House loves you too. That's why he wants to take care of you."

House bit his tongue. Pointing out that Wilson was exaggerating about the whole _wanting_ to take care of him thing was probably not the best thing to do right now.

"But… mummy… why…" He had a hard time finding the right thing to say. "Granny _likes_ for me to stay with her. So even if Mummy doesn't want me, Granny loves me. I'm her _Sweet Little Mouse,_" he said as if he thought that clarified everything.

"Your Granny isn't able to take care of you anymore. But you'll always be her sweet little mouse," Wilson said in his most comforting tone. He smiled at the nickname. Somehow it seemed to fit little Chase perfectly. He could be timid and quiet, but he had a sharp mind.

Chase tried to understand why these strange men were saying these things. "Oh, no!" he yelped, looking positively horrorstruck. "Granny died!" he exclaimed. "Just like Grandpa. But Granny wasn't sick! _She wasn't!_" he squalled. "She wasn't sick." He clutched onto the toy cat, the only thing in the room that was the least bit comforting for him.

House ran his hand over his face. The truth was that Chase's grandmother had died at some point, but it would be cruel to tell him. At the same time, it would be cruel to let him believe that he might see the woman again too. The whole situation was cruel.

"Your Granny loved you very much," Wilson said, pulling Chase to him so that he could be close to someone. The child needed loving contact to reassure him that he was not alone. "I know she would be here if she could."

"But she wasn't sick," Chase repeated.

"Sometimes bad things happen and the people we care about get taken away and there's nothing we can do to stop it," Wilson said softly. "And we can't make them come back either, no matter how much we want them to."

"Like Grandpa," Chase said. "He went away and my Granny cried. She was sad for a long time."

"She cried because she was hurting just like you are," Wilson told him. "But your Granny wasn't all alone because she had you, remember?"

Chase nodded. "And Molly too."

"And Molly too," Wilson agreed. "Even though you can't be with her anymore, you can always remember how much you loved her and how much she loved you too."

Chase sniffed and House handed him a small, thin tissue from the box that was on the stand next to the bed.

"You don't have to be alone either," Wilson continued. "There are people here who love you and we'll be like a new family for you, especially House. He's never had a little boy before, so you're going to have to teach him how to be a good Daddy."

"But he's mean!" Chase whimpered.

Wilson looked to House. The kid had a valid point.

House marveled that Chase could repeatedly ask for his abusive mother but declare that he was mean based on just snapping at him. "Better the devil you know, huh, kid?"

"I don't know what that means." Chase answered.

Wilson was not exactly sure what House meant either.

"Chase, sometimes I get irritated and I say mean things, but I promise I'm not going to be mean to you. I'm not going to hurt you like your mother did."

"Will Papa ever come see me?" Chase asked.

House exhaled, getting very frustrated with the conversation. He was trying to protect Chase by giving him as little information as possible. The child definitely asked too many questions. "No." He refrained from saying, _He can't,_ so Chase would not jump to the conclusion that Rowan was as dead as Granny.

"Why?" Chase whispered, afraid that House was getting irritated with him.

"It's too far from Australia."

"Why did you make me come here?" Chase asked. "It's your fault! You made me come here and now I can't be with my Papa or Mummy or Granny anymore. You ARE mean and I hate you!"

House realized the child's accusations were warranted. It was his fault that Ivana Whit had gotten angry enough to do this. He was responsible for this four year old being away from his home and his family. It was his fault that the little boy was essentially alone and afraid. It was his fault that the real Chase, the adult Chase, had apparently ceased to exist. "I'm sorry. I'm going to make it up to you," House said with little feeling in his words. "At least I'll try. I have to."

House's words were of no comfort to the child. He tore himself away from Wilson and turned his back on House. "Go away," he demanded. "My Papa is going to come get me. You'll see. I don't care how far away he is. He'll find me and take me away from you."

"He won't" House said sternly, but calmly. "He can't."

"My Papa is the smartest doctor in the whole world. He'll find me!"

"He's dead, Chase." He revealed, raising his voice. "They all are. You're stuck with me so you might as well get used to it. I'm taking you home tonight." With that, he left as quickly as he could.

Wilson watched him go and watched Chase as he processed the idea that his whole family was gone. The child was devastated as he sobbed into the plush black cat. Wilson patted Chase's back and sighed, whispering to himself, "That went well."

_AN: Thanks for reading and thanks to everyone leaving reviews!_


	9. Chapter 9

"Get over here before I kill this kid," were not exactly the words Wilson had hoped to hear when he answered his cell phone at a quarter past eight on a Saturday night, but they were the words that got him to House's apartment in seventeen minutes flat.

He had checked in with House earlier in the morning and House had said everything was fine then. Chase, who would henceforth be known as Joseph Chase Roberts House thanks to Wilson's less than legitimate connections, had been asleep at the time. Wilson had initially planned to help House through his first full day of parenting his child, but instead had been called to the hospital for a case. At least that had given him plenty of opportunity to tell random coworkers that House had become a daddy. Sadly, Ms. Roberts had abandoned the boy, signing away her parental rights to his biological father. By Monday, everyone at the hospital would know House had a child.

Wilson walked into the apartment without even bothering to knock. The living room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane and it was not clear if it had been Hurricane Greg or Hurricane Robert. The coffee table had been shoved against the wall to make room for a twin size air mattress which was inflated on the floor in front of the couch. Sheets decorated with Dragon Tales characters were in a heap on one end of the mattress. There was a soggy, sticky waffle with one small bite missing sitting directly on the end table by the couch. Under the table, leaning against the wall, was the board for a game while various pieces were strewn across the floor along with crayons, toy cars, the pieces of a train track, a headless Batman figure, various items of clothing in both child and adult sizes and a few dozen Fruit Loops. The couch itself was covered with a deck of cards, a blanket, a few stray kernels of popcorn, and several miniature sized candy bar wrappers.

In the kitchen, the sink was piled high with dishes and there were a pizza box and mostly ignored containers from the closest Chinese restaurant. Wilson suspected that House was having a difficult time finding something Chase would agree to eat. As he neared the kitchen, Wilson heard a voice from the bathroom.

"Yes, you will!" House demanded.

Wilson opened the door in time to see Chase, arms crossed over his chest, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall replying, "No!"

House sighed and ran a hand over his face, "You have to."

"No!" Chase shouted back.

"What's going on?" Wilson asked, interrupting their confrontation.

"He won't take a bath," House explained, snapping at Wilson as though it should be obvious to anyone with a brain.

"Let me talk to him," Wilson offered. He was fairly confident that if he could explain the necessity of radiation treatment to a child, he could certainly tackle the need for a bath.

House stepped aside and let Wilson approach the boy.

Wilson observed that the floor really needed to be cleaned if Chase was going to sit on it and the fact that he was sitting on it only added to his need for a bath. "Chase, you know you need to take a bath," he started, his tone quite placating.

Chase shook his head.

"There's chocolate on your face and shirt and your face is all red like you've been sweating and your hair is kind of flat like it's oily and--"

"You stink!" House yelled.

Wilson closed his eyes and shook his head. House was not helping. "And there's that."

"_You stink_!" Chase replied emphatically.

"I see he inherited your witty retort gene." Wilson said to House. He turned back to Chase. "I went for a jog this morning and got all sweaty, so I had to take a bath when I got home. Everyone has to take a bath when they get sweaty or dirty."

"Then I won't get sweaty or dirty anymore." Chase declared. If he had not been crouched in the corner of the bathroom, Wilson would have thought he actually sounded smug.

"The fact that he gets cause and effect isn't going to work to your advantage," House warned him. "It only makes him _more evil_."

"He's not _evil_."

"Did you see my living room?"

"Who _bought_ the chocolate?" Wilson asked, then paused while House refused to answer. "And who _gave_ him the chocolate?" House should have thought ahead, knowing that hyper four-year-olds were messy four-year-olds.

"That is beside the point."

"You know, this would be easier if I only had to debate with one four year old genius."

House frowned. "Be my guest." He leaned against the doorframe while bouncing his cane against the bathroom tile. "I'll just stand here with my mouth shut while you talk some sense into the brat."

Chase scowled.

Wilson exhaled slowly. "Chase, honey, you need to take a bath. If you stay dirty, you'll be covered in germs and they'll make you sick again."

This seemed to resonate with the child. "I don't want to get sick."

"Good. Then let's get you in the tub," Wilson smiled, pleased at the progress he had made.

"No!" Chase exclaimed again.

"So much for that." House was quick to point out the first sign of failure.

"Chase, _why_ do you want to avoid taking a bath?" Wilson asked, remembering that Chase himself liked to ask _why_ questions. Reasons mattered to him.

Chase looked from Wilson to House. "I don't want to."

"Why?" Wilson repeated. "There has to be a reason."

"It'll hurt," Chase admitted in a soft voice, making him seem even smaller than before.

Wilson was surprised by this answer. Baths might not always be fun, but they were not supposed to be painful.

House's stomach felt funny. He knew that baths could hurt, but Chase should not know that. There was something very wrong with that picture. "We'll make sure the water isn't too cold." He quickly added, "Or too hot. And we'll add bubbles and get you a rubber ducky. Would you like that?"

Wilson was shocked, not only at Chase's idea of the bath hurting, but at House's immediate response and suggestions to make a bath more enjoyable.

"I like duckies," Chase said. "But it'll still hurt."

"Why do you think it will hurt?" Wilson asked.

"The water will sting."

"Water doesn't sting," Wilson said. He looked to House to see if he had anything to add. He was aware that Chase had had some strange holes in his memory, but surely he had had a bath recently since he had been sick at the hospital.

House studied the boy. He was sincerely afraid of being hurt by the water. "It might," he said, the light bulb going on in his mind. "If… take off your pants."

Chase shook his head and tried to scoot even closer to the wall.

"Let me see your legs," House demanded

Wilson looked back and forth between the two. "Why do you want to see his legs?"

"I don't want to!" Chase responded, interrupting the men.

"Look, you can either stand up and take off your pants or one of us is going to hold you down while the other does it for you." House sternly added, "I don't think any of us will like that."

Wilson looked positively aghast at the threat.

"Take off your pants. Now!" House ordered. "Or else!" _Or else what_, he was not sure. He hoped the threat alone would get the results he wanted.

Chase was definitely sulking as he stood up and removed his jeans. They had an elastic waistband, so all he had to do was slip them down. He inhaled shakily as he did so. He obeyed when House ordered him to turn around.

"My god!" Wilson exclaimed. The back of Chase's thighs were covered in blotchy purple bruises and thin cut marks. "Did you spank him?" he asked hotly, infuriated that House had resorted to such measures. Chase had obviously been a little monster today, but this was entirely too severe of a punishment. "How could you?"

"I didn't!" House said, as shocked by the sight as Wilson was. The sight of the child's legs made him ill.

"Then who did?" Wilson asked. "He didn't do it to himself and you're the only one who's been around him since we brought him here last night." They had bought what they thought would be essential supplies for a child--toys, clothing, kid friendly food, and the air mattress--before House brought Chase home from the hospital the night before. House was the only person who had been around Chase since for the last twenty-four hours.

House sat on the toilet to be closer to Chase's level. He took a soft, clean beige towel from the bar where it was hanging and spread it over his lap, mindful that the rough material of his pants might irritate Chase's welts, then pulled the child into his arms. "Who hurt you?" he asked.

Wilson had never thought he would see the day that House would let a child sit on his lap. "Do you remember?" he asked. Despite his initial shock and even House's threat to kill the kid, he could not believe that House had done _that_.

Chase nodded.

"Tell us," House coaxed. "We want to protect you."

Chase looked back and forth between the two of them. "My Mum."

House caught Wilson's eye as they mulled over the impossibility of the claim. Then again, the four year old he was cradling had been his intensive care specialist a week ago. Who was he to say what was and was not possible? He pulled Chase close to his chest and patted his back. "I'm sorry she hurt you. Can you tell me what happened? How did she hurt you?" he prodded as gently as he could. "When did this happen?"

"Last night," Chase answered the most recent question.

House nodded. Knowing that Chase had been in pain shed some light on why he had been behaving so badly all day long, though House had assumed the new environment, new circumstances, and all the loss Chase had experienced had been enough reasons for him to act out as he had. He had not noticed Chase's legs before because the child was able to dress and undress himself and House wanted to give him some privacy. "How did she hurt you?" he asked.

"She came to see me last night."

"Okay," House said agreeably, trying to keep skepticism out of his voice. He certainly had not heard any kind of disturbance. Of course, he had also taken four vicodin before bed too. He might have cut back to three tonight. "Was she in the living room with you?"

Chase shook his head. "No. She took me home with her."

"Like a dream?" Wilson asked.

Chase nodded.

"And she spanked you at home?" House asked. When Chase nodded in the affirmative again he continued, "Why did she spank you?"

"She thought I broke one of her dolls, but I didn't. I didn't even go in her room and I know I can't touch her dolls."

"She blamed you though," Wilson concluded. "So you got in trouble and she spanked you."

He nodded again.

"What did she spank you with?"

"Her belt," he answered. "The red one."

Use of a woman's belt would explain the thin stripes. "Did she hit you with the metal buckle part?" House asked, wondering about the deeper bruises and thin cuts. When Chase nodded again, House found himself filled with the urge to hunt down the woman and beat her with her own belt to see how she liked it.

"It must've been a very realistic dream," Wilson said, marveling over the very real damage left by the dream. He had heard of people developing bruises after flashbacks of severely traumatizing events, but given the circumstances, he was hesitant to make a judgment call on what might be causing these injuries. The mind was strange and powerful, but it was, perhaps, not the only strange and powerful force at work.

"If I had known, I would have stopped her," House said to Chase. "I won't let anyone hit you again if I can help it."

"You're not going to hit me," Chase stated.

"Never," House promised.

"I know," Chase said. "I broke your bat doll to see."

House shook his head slightly, startled by the child's admission. "You were testing me?" he asked, unable to keep himself from grinning.

Chase only blinked. He looked like a cherub. But it was becoming very clear that he thought like a House.

"So, the train, the games, the raining Fruit Loops… it was all a test?"

"I want to know if you're going to send me away or hit me like she did."

"No, Chase. I am never going to hit you. And I'm not going to send you away. I wouldn't send you away even if I could." While he knew the feeling might not last, House also knew that, at the moment, he would not have trusted anyone else with the bright, lonely little person in his lap. None of the others could possibly understand being tested by a four year old, but he could. He was almost… proud.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess. I'll clean it up."

"Damn straight you will," House laughed. "But first, we have to take care of getting _you_ cleaned up."

"No!" Chase whimpered, starting to squirm away. "Please."

"Give me time to finish," House lightly scolded.

Chase pressed his lips together tightly to make a show of being a good listener. He looked up to House.

"I'll run some warm soapy water into the tub. Then you can stand in the tub and we'll take one of those soft wash cloths, dip it into the water, and Wilson will help you wash up, okay? It might sting a little bit, but you're a big boy and you can handle it. It won't hurt anything like it did last night and it'll feel better after the cuts are cleaned. After your body is all clean, Wilson is going to put some ointment on those cuts so it'll kill the nasty old bacteria so you can get well."

"I want _you_ to help me since you're my new Pa--Daddy."

"I hurt my leg a long time ago and I can't kneel on the floor like Wilson can. It'll be okay. He won't hurt you either."

"I promise," Wilson vowed, crossing his heart. "And after that, we can even wash your hair in the kitchen sink."

"Really?" Chase asked.

"Really," Wilson nodded. "That's how my mom used to wash my hair."

"Won't that get messy?"

"Have you seen the kitchen? A little soap and water splashed about can only help."

"And after that, we'll find something to eat for supper," House added. So far, Chase had turned his nose up at waffles, pizza, and Lo Mein noodles. He had balked at the idea of hamburgers and chicken, certain that both would make him sick. He had thrown cereal into the air like an erupting volcano. The only things he seemed to like were chocolate and popcorn. "Are you hungry? I'm starving."

Chase nodded.

"So, first thing's first: bath time," House stated, leaving no room for argument. "Be good for Wilson. I'm going to go start cleaning up the living room since, I guess, I did help mess it up."

"That's big of you, House," Wilson laughed. "We'll be out in a few minutes."


	10. Chapter 10

"He's out like a light," House said. He had just taken a very sleepy Chase from the sofa, placed him on the air mattress, and tucked him in. It had not been easy for him to manage it physically, but he had gotten it done. He noted to himself that he needed to establish a firm bedtime instead of letting Chase stay up so late.

"A good bath and a good meal is what he needed." Wilson was drying the last of the dishes and House placed them back in the cabinets. Traces of the day's chaos had been straightened up, sorted out, or just tossed away so the apartment looked somewhat neat again.

"He needs a lot more than that," House said. He opened the refrigerator door, pulled out two beers, then placed them on the table. "Someone who has a clue how to deal with kids for starters."

"You'll learn," Wilson encouraged his friend. He sat down and opened the bottle.

"I don't know about that," House mused. "I've been trying to get him to eat all day. I got, 'I don't like pizza. I don't like Chinese food. I don't want a hamburger.'" House mimicked Chase's protests. "I finally got him to say he liked waffles, so I heated a waffle for him, put it on a plate, covered it in syrup. And guess what. He doesn't like syrup." House sighed. "What kid doesn't like syrup? Then you come along and he eats every crumb of an egg sandwich." It was frustrating that Chase had eaten for Wilson, but not for him.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Wilson started. "When I gave him his bath, I told him that afterwards we were going to do something nice for you by cooking supper just for you. I figured scrambling an egg was easy enough that I could let him pretend to help with it. He was excited about doing something to make you happy. He might have been testing your limits today, but he really wants to make you happy."

House nodded. "I guess he's not pure evil."

Wilson shook his head. "He's a sweet kid. Give him some time to adjust. His whole world just disappeared and he's dealt with such abuse that he doesn't know who or what to trust."

House fully expected to have to deal with more tantrums, but he hoped Chase would soon start to feel safe with him. "When you were bathing him… were there any other injuries?"

Wilson shook his head, remembering the battered flesh. "How did--"

"I have no idea," House interrupted. "But it better not happen again."

"Do you think it's the response to a traumatic memory? There are documented cases of people having physical manifestations of memories of abuse. I've never heard of it being so severe though."

House sighed. "I hope that's what it is. Otherwise, I don't know what I can do to stop it. Maybe if I can make him feel safe, he won't have nightmares like that anymore. I didn't do the best job in the world of making him feel secure yesterday." Any child who had just been informed his entire family was dead and he had to go live with a stranger was due some bad dreams.

"He's lost his whole family. It's going to take a while."

"I'm going to screw it up," House said. "You know that, right?"

"Every parent screws up."

"He's not going to be Chase when he grows up though," House said. "So much of what made him who he is, I can't give him."

"Like years of physical and emotional abuse," Wilson supplied. "Did you know about his mother? I mean, when he was an adult, did you know he'd been abused like that?"

"I knew that she was an alcoholic."

"Growing up without her can't be harmful," Wilson reasoned. "You're saving him from whatever hell she put him through later. If she'll hurt a tiny four year old like that, what did she do to him when he was older? There's no telling just how vicious she was."

"You sound like Foreman," House said.

"On occasion, he makes sense."

House sighed. "You don't get it, do you? I know what Chase is supposed to be like when he's an adult. If I'm in charge of that little amnesiac in there, he won't be who he's supposed to be when he grows up. What am I supposed to do with that? Do I send him to church because I know he believes in God even though I don't? Give him sci-fi books because I've caught him reading them at work? How do I make that kid into Chase when he's lost every influence in his life? Odds are, he won't even remember Australia or speak with an accent in a couple of years."

Wilson seemed to be at a loss for words. He did not know the answer any better than House did.

"There's no way I can _not_ screw this up."

Wilson took a deep breath, hesitant to say what he had to say. "I think that Chase is gone, at least the Chase we knew. We can't figure out how to make him an adult again. He's going to grow up--again--but with a different family in a different place and time. You can't make yourself crazy trying to do the impossible. He _can't_ be who he was before."

"I know you're right," House admitted. "But Chase is… was… someone who could connect with patients, especially the kids. He had a gentle, comforting way in dealing with people who were scared. He's not going to learn that from me."

"I doubt he learned it from his mother either," Wilson said. "Don't sell yourself short, House. You were very gentle and comforting with him when you found out he had those injuries. You can be that kind of influence. He'll learn from how you treat him."

"Right. Yesterday I got frustrated and told him his entire family was dead and to get used to it."

"Not your best moment," Wilson agreed. "Learn from your mistakes."

"Do you have to do that?" House asked, annoyed.

"Do what?"

"Sound like Dr. Phil."

Wilson frowned. "I'm trying to make you feel better. I could stop if you want me to."

"I want you to."

"Fine. Wallow in your inability to be a parent," Wilson said. "But don't think that makes you special. Every parent in the world thinks they're a failure."

"And you know this _how_ exactly?" House asked. "It's not like you have any kids to fail."

Wilson shrugged and finished the last of his beer. "Saw it on Dr. Phil."

_AN: This story seems to be lending itself to shorter chapters than my others. Sorry about that. I guess it makes for faster updates though. Thank you for the continued support! All those comments really inspire me to keep writing and I appreciate everyone who has a comment!_


	11. Chapter 11

Though he was sleeping, House could detect a presence, something that was not quite supposed to be there. The presence was staring at him, silently beckoning him from his slumber. He resisted it, trying to focus on the fleeting details of whatever he had been dreaming, willing himself back to sleep. It did not go away and, even without sound and without movement, it seemed stronger than before.

Defeated, he turned onto his side and reached for the lamp on the night stand. As it come on, a soft glow illuminated the room, casting shadows on the walls. Standing about a foot from the bed was Chase, holding onto his toy cat. House could immediately tell that he had been crying--again. His eyes which always seemed so big were red and his cheeks were streaked from tears. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did you have another nightmare?" He sat up, afraid that Chase would have more mysterious injuries that would need tending.

"Can I sleep in your bed?" Chase asked softly, looking down at the floor.

"Why do you want to sleep in my bed?" House asked. That was not a habit he wanted Chase to establish. He disliked the way Chase had trouble looking at him when he made a request. He did not want Chase to approach him with the same fear that he must have had when approaching his mother. A child should not be afraid to go to a parent after a nightmare. It reminded him that he had to be mindful of his tone and actions. The trust he had was tenuous at best.

"To make sure you're there," Chase answered.

"I'm not going anywhere," House assured him. "See. I'm just sleeping, which is what you should be doing too."

"I want to make sure you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" House asked, thinking that he should be the one getting up in the middle of the night to make sure Chase was okay, not the other way around.

"You might die too," Chase answered.

House felt a surge of something go straight to his heart. It was like a pulse of guilt combined with a twisted jolt of compassion. It was not completely unpleasant, but it was something unfamiliar and it made him do something he would not have done otherwise: he pulled down the covers and made a space for Chase to lie down next to him. "Come on," he said, patting the bed. He watched as the little boy crawled onto the bed at the foot and made his way to the pillows, dragging the stuffed animal with him.

Chase laid his head on the pillow and he held the toy at his side. House pulled the covers over him, then turned off the light before settling back into his own well-worn, comfortable spot.

"I'm glad you're okay," Chase said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to die too."

"I don't want me to die either," House assured him. The possibility was sobering. This child who was depending on him had no one else in the world that he could rely on.

House wondered if he even had another ten years left. The Vicodin had to be wrecking his liver. What would become of Chase, of his son, if he died? His immediate thought was that Wilson could raise him, but would Wilson be able or want to take on the responsibility? One thing was certain--House was going to have to find out. He could not let the boy become a ward of the state. He would have to be with someone who understood his special needs and who would encourage his natural aptitudes. It would be devastating for Chase to grow up without someone who nurtured his intelligence. That was the one way in which Rowan Chase had succeeded, perhaps even gone too far, as a father.

House glanced at the digital clock near his bed and wondered if these were the kinds of things that parents were supposed to think about at two o'clock in the morning. If this was what it was like to be a parent, it made no sense to him that anyone ever had more than one child. Frankly, the whole ever-lasting responsibility thing was a drag.

"Will you promise to not leave me?" Chase asked timidly.

"I'll do my best," House said. "I can't predict the future, but I'll do everything I can to stay with you for a long time." It would have been easier to say that he would not leave, but House was in no position to promise _that_ promise.

"I miss my Granny. I wish she was here."

"I bet she misses you too," House said. Though he had nothing to base it on, he had an image of Chase's grandmother in his mind: an older lady sitting in a rocking chair, petting her cat while her "sweet little mouse" played on the floor at her feet. She was an anchor of security in the child's otherwise tumultuous life.

He thought of his own mother. She would probably be thrilled to learn she had a grandson. He was certain she had given up on any dream of having grandchildren long ago. He imagined that Chase would enjoy having another grandmother. He knew he should introduce them, but had no desire to expose Chase to his father, who would, inevitably show up if his mother came to visit. Introducing Chase to John House would turn into a disaster.

His mother, on the other hand, might actually be quite useful. She would know the kinds of things a four year old boy needed. House decided he would call his mother in the morning and ask her to come visit so she could meet her grandson. It would be good for Chase to know that he had more family and that was the most important thing. The child was living in too much fear and House could put up with his mother for one day if it meant fewer nights spent promising Chase that he was not going to die in his sleep.

"Are you awake?" House whispered.

"Yes," Chase whispered back.

"How would you like to meet my mother? Since she's my mother, she's your grandmother."

Chase sat up, "I have another grandmother?"

"Yep," House said. It was easy to detect the child's excitement, even though he could barely be seen in the dark.

"Is she nice?"

"I think she is," House told him.

"Is she going to like me?"

"She's going to love you."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Is it okay if I still love my Granny?"

"You'll always love your Granny, but you can love your new grandmother too."

"When can I meet her?" Chase asked.

"Soon," House promised.

"Really?"

"Really." House patted Chase's pillow. "Lay down. It's time to go back to sleep."

_AN: As always, thank you for reading/commenting! FYI: this detour from my original plan is all thanks to Angelfirenze. :) _


	12. Chapter 12

"Oh, Greg! He's a beautiful child!" Blythe House exclaimed, seeing her grandson for the first time as House opened the door to his apartment.

The smile he wore to greet his mother faded when House saw his father standing behind her. He had only invited Blythe, but he should have known she would bring along his father. The two men merely nodded in acknowledgement of each other.

Meanwhile, Blythe made her way inside and kneeled down to get a closer look at Chase. "Hi there!" she smiled warmly.

Chase hid himself behind House's legs and peeked around to see her. "Hi," he said. He stuck two fingers in his mouth as he studied her and, with his other hand, he held onto his precious black cat.

House placed his hand on Chase's back to guide him out of hiding. "Chase, this is my mother, Blythe. She's your grandmother." His tone was much cooler as he said, "And this is my father, John. He's your grandfather."

"Pleased to met you," John said, bending over. He stuck his hand out.

Chase pressed his hand, wet fingers and all, into his grandfather's palm. "Pleased to meet you," he repeated.

John nodded and broke the grip, then wiped his hand on his pants legs. "He talks funny," John observed, turning to House.

House saw the smile that his son was wearing disappear and he saw that his eyes had become teary at the criticism. "Great. You're going to make him cry," House muttered. "He was born and raised in Australia until now. He has an accent, not a speech impediment." House patted Chase's shoulder.

"No grandson of mine is going to get away with being a crybaby. You need to toughen that kid up."

House protectively squeezed Chase's shoulder, pulling him closer. He was all too familiar with John House's methods of "toughening up" a child. "Be reasonable," House said. "He's lost his entire family and he's in a new home, new country, surrounded by new people. He's going to be emotional."

"He's still got it better than a lot of kids."

"With all due respect," Wilson interrupted from the recliner where he was waiting, "It's not so much about what he's got, but about what he's lost." He had stayed out of the way so the Houses could meet their grandson without his interference, but he was unable to take John's attitude any longer. He was glad he had come over to help House get ready for his mother's visit. Neither of them wanted to give her a reason to think that House could not handle having the child, so they made sure the apartment was clean and tidy and Chase was well-dressed and forewarned to be on his best behavior.

Blythe stood and took Chase's hand, "I don't think it's a very good idea to keep talking about this in front of the baby. I'm sure he understands that you're talking about him." She led him to the couch, sat down, and patted the seat, indicating for him to join her, which he did.

"He _does_ understand," House told them. He sat next to Chase, leaving his father to have to sit in one of the chairs, a safe distance from the child. "He's exceptionally bright."

"Every parent thinks their kid is exceptional," John said with a laugh.

"Mine actually is," House said defiantly. "I'll have you know he's learning three languages and can do math in his head."

Chase watched the adults around him. He knew they were arguing about him. He looked down at his toy cat, trying to focus on it rather than the angry voices.

"What's eight plus four?" John quizzed.

Chase refused to look up.

"He's a child, not a show dog!" House said angrily. "Don't ask him to do tricks like a trained poodle."

"Are you two incapable of being civil?" Blythe asked. Both men responded with silence. "Chase, honey, don't worry about your grandfather. He's an old grouch."

Chase petted his cat, pretending it was real.

"Sweetheart, tell me about yourself. What kinds of things do you like?"

Chase looked to House for guidance.

"It's okay," House said. "You can answer. Tell your grandmother about your kitty cat."

"Foreman got it for me," Chase said proudly. He held the cat out to her. "It's my favorite toy. My Granny has a cat named Molly. But my Granny died." He looked to House, "Who's taking care of Molly?"

"She went to a new family, just like you did," Wilson supplied, afraid that House might say the cat was dead too.

"What's your kitty's name?" Blythe asked.

"Tino," Chase answered. "It's a boy cat."

"That's a great name," Blythe said sweetly. "Did you think of that yourself?"

Chase nodded.

"Do you like being here with Greg? Your new dad?"

He nodded again. "He's nice. But sometimes his leg hurts and I'm afraid he'll die too."

Blythe looked to House for a response. It cut her to the core to hear the child echo her own concerns.

"I'm going to do my best to stick around for a long time," House promised.

"What kind of things do you like to do?" Blythe quizzed, eager to move away from the subject of her son's health.

Chase shrugged. He remembered that Foreman did not think that learning Japanese sounded like fun. "I don't remember," he said shyly.

"You don't remember?" John asked. "How can you not remember what you like to do?"

"You're scaring him!" House snapped at his father.

"I just asked a question! I'm not scaring him!"

"Yes, you are. I wish you could hear yourself and your tone!"

"Chase, tell them how we made eggs," Wilson suggested, hoping to stop House and his dad's sniping at each other.

"I helped Wilson make scrambled eggs for Daddy," he said. "I got to crack an egg and stir them. And we all had sandwiches. Daddy put jelly on his."

"Your daddy must've been very proud of you!" Blythe said. "You're such a big boy--helping out like that."

Chase smiled at the compliment. "I like to help."

"You're a sweet little boy, aren't you?"

"I'm a _sweet little mouse_," Chase corrected her, proud of the nickname his Granny had given him.

"You're a _mouse_?" Blythe asked, exaggerating her surprise.

"It's what his Granny called him," Wilson explained.

"What am I supposed to call you?" Chase asked Blythe.

"You should call us Oma and Opa," John answered, indicating his wife first, then himself.

"Omi and Opi," Chase said.

"O_ma_ and O_pa_." John corrected.

Chase frowned and looked away from the man.

"Maybe we should leave for lunch," Wilson suggested. They had a long day planned--lunch and then shopping with Blythe. She had been glad to volunteer to help House figure out what he needed to get for Chase.

The ride to the restaurant was relatively uneventful. John insisted on driving his rented sedan and Wilson sat in the front with him to give him directions. Blythe, House, and Chase sat in the back. House thought the trip was a great excuse to be quiet and Chase had no trouble following his example. No one could accuse the child of being chatty.

"You can't take that inside," John said when Chase got out of the car with his cat.

"John, it's his security blanket," Blythe argued softly. "He's still getting used to so many changes. He needs it."

John snatched the toy from Chase's arms and put it on the backseat, then shut the door. "He's too old to carry around a stuffed animal."

"I'll decide when he's too old to carry around a stuffed animal," House said, reaching the others just as the car door was shut since he and Wilson had had to walk around the car to meet them. He opened the door, retrieved the cat and handed it back to his crestfallen son.

Chase looked at him and back at John, uncertain if it was all right for him to take the toy back.

"It's okay," House said offering the animal. "Tino can go inside too." He realized that he himself might have discouraged Chase from taking the toy into a restaurant if they were going out alone, but since his father had done so, he was damn well determined that Chase was going to take his toy. At the moment, he did not care if Chase still was hauling it around when he was sixteen. He was the father and John had no say in the matter.

Chase did not take the toy. Instead he looked back at John and then at House again and then at his own shoes.

"You're a jerk," House told his father. "Stop criticizing him." He stuck the toy under his arm, intent on taking it into the restaurant for Chase.

Wilson held his tongue as he led the Houses into the restaurant. He had met House's parents before, but he had repressed the memory of just how unpleasant House and his father could be toward one another. He asked for a table for four adults and one child, though he wondered if he should be asking for three children and two adults, given the way the male Houses were behaving.

The group were immediately led to a booth. Wilson slid in first, and the waitress placed a booster seat in the middle for Chase, then House sat next to him and placed the cat by his side. Blythe and John sat on the other side of the table. The waitress distributed menus, introduced herself as Cathy, and gave Chase a box of four crayons and a sheet of paper with puzzles and pictures.

"They have quite a variety," Wilson said, attempting to make pleasant conversation. Of course, his statement was unnecessary given that they each had a menu and they could see for themselves what the restaurant had to offer.

"Everything sounds good," Blythe said. It was an almost painful attempt to follow Wilson's statement. There was no way everything would sound good to the same person.

Possibly for the first time in his life, House found that he went to the listings for the children's menu first. "Chase, they have chicken nuggets, hamburgers, grilled cheese, and spaghetti. Do you want any of those things?"

Chase shrugged as he colored the cowboy teddy bear that was lassoing a star.

"Just order him the chicken," John suggested.

Chase looked up at this. He tugged on House's sleeve to get his attention since House was looking over the menu.

"What, baby?" House asked absently.

"I don't like chicken. It has koley-steer-all and it makes me sick."

"What?" Blythe asked, confused by the jumbled word.

"He's watching his cholesterol," House responded dryly.

Blythe looked to Wilson for an explanation, but Wilson just shrugged.

"What do you want to eat?" House asked.

"I like potatoes."

House scanned the menu for the side items. "They have mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, French fries, steamed green beans, carrots, broccoli, asparagus, and rice pilaf. Does any of that sound good? We could order a side dish of potatoes for you and something else to go with them."

Chase nodded. "I like mashed potatoes and carrots."

"You're going to spoil him," John warned. "Just get him something off the children's menu. That's why they have a children's menu."

"Let me get this straight," House started. "He actually _wants_ to eat his vegetables and you think I should get him a greasy hamburger or an even greasier grilled cheese instead?"

"If you give in on the little things, you'll wind up giving in on the big things too," John warned.

"I'm not giving in," House argued. "I'm giving him options. You have at least fifty of your own in case you haven't noticed. He's _four_. He's not used to American food. He got food poisoning from chicken on his first day here. And did I mention that _he's four_?"

John snorted and looked at his menu, "It's your funeral."

"Right. Because if I let him order side dishes today, he'll be downloading internet porn tomorrow."

Wilson was startled when Chase suddenly pressed his head against him, hiding his face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, interrupting House and his father's argument.

Chase shook his head, refusing to talk, and refusing to let his grandfather see him upset.

Wilson patted his back gently and offered him the cat. Chase took the cat from him and Wilson would have sworn that the child was trying to burrow right into him to hide from the other adults. He leaned over and whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I didn't mean to," Chase whispered back.

"Didn't mean to what?"

"Be bad."

"You haven't been bad," Wilson told him, loud enough for everyone to hear. The Houses needed to realize what their arguing was doing to the little boy.

"Daddy and Opi are mad," Chase said.

"Oh," Blythe said, feeling sympathetic. "Baby, they're not mad at you," she tried to explain.

Chase still hung close to Wilson, but he faced his grandmother. "They're mad because I don't like chicken," he said. "I'll eat chicken," he promised, big tears starting to roll down his face. "I'll be good."

"I hope you're happy," House snapped at his father. Chase probably expected to be punished now. That was what he had learned in his other dysfunctional family. House had only invited his mother to be part of Chase's life to make him feel safer, but that was backfiring.

"House," Wilson said sharply. He was not exactly helping things either.

House turned to the child. "You haven't been bad," he said in a calm voice. "And you don't have to eat any chicken if you don't want to."

"But Opi's mad at me."

"Opi's not mad," House said, wiping Chase's face with his cloth napkin. "Are you, _Opi_?" He gave his father a stern glare that dared him to correct Chase's mispronunciation of the word.

"I'm not mad at you," John said.

"Your daddy and your grandpa tend to argue about everything," Blythe explained.

"Why?" Chase asked.

"It's just the way they are," she sighed.

"My Mummy and Papa argue a lot too," Chase told her. "Mummy said it was because I was bad."

"Why on earth would she say such a thing?" Blythe asked, her heart hurting for the precious little one in front of her. She could certainly tell that he was intelligent like her own son, but Chase was much more sensitive than Greg had ever been.

"She wasn't a very good mother," House answered. "We can't argue in front of him," he told his father. "It's too upsetting."

"Fine," John nodded.

"Good," House said.

Soon, Cathy returned to take their orders. House ordered for himself and for Chase, realizing with disappointment that it was not even noon. It was going to be a long, miserable day.

__

AN: This chapter is dedicated to Angelfirenze. I hope it satisfies your craving.


	13. Chapter 13

"The next time I have the bright idea to invite my mother to visit, remind me of today," House said as he gave Wilson one of the last two beers in his fridge. He had to push aside whole milk and juice boxes to find them.

"I don't think that urge will strike again any time soon," Wilson commented.

House sat down, leaned his cane against the table and squeezed his thigh with his right hand. He had taken two pills the moment his parents left, but they had not done much to dull the pain.

"Probably not," House agreed. "Why do we have baby wipes?" he asked, noting the double-stacked package on his kitchen counter. "He's not a baby."

"He _has_ been known to wear chocolate," Wilson reminded him.

House glanced to the living room where Chase was currently conked out on his mattress. He was starting to realize a child's life went in cycles of eating, sleeping, and in his emotionally traumatized son's case, crying. The room was filled with shopping bags full of clothes, shoes, toys, books, blocks, children's medications, and food marketed to kids. "I miss my TV," he said glancing at the set. "After a day like this, I'd like to watch something completely mind-numbing." He saw a new stack of DVDs that Blythe had picked out for Chase. "But not necessarily animated."

"Maybe you could move it into the bedroom," Wilson suggested.

"I think I'm going to have to get a bigger place," House said. "The kid needs a bedroom. Actually, he needs a bed. He's practically sleeping on the floor."

"You should see if there are any two-bedrooms in the building."

"I will," House nodded. He noticed a teddy bear peaking from the top of one of the bags. "Maybe he'll start to play more now that he has some toys he got to pick out."

Wilson snickered. "Like his My Little Pony."

House had led Chase to the toy section of the local Target and told him he could pick out "anything he wanted." The first thing Chase had seen was a white horse with a green mane and tail. He took it from the shelf and told House, "I like horses! My Granny took me to a ranch one time and I got to ride a horse. It was white too. But it didn't have green hair. I've never seen a real horse with green hair though."

Wilson had been certain that House was going to tell Chase, "That's a girl's toy," except that John House had beaten him to it. That was just enough to make House angry.

"He's not old enough to care," House said.

"I thought he was a genius," John argued.

"He's still four," House reminded him. "He can have the horse if he wants it." House even unwrapped it in the car so Chase could annoy his grandfather by playing with a girl's toy. That was when House noticed that it had green shamrocks on its ass and he swore to himself that their next trip to a toy store would result in the purchase of a more manly horse and a couple of cowboys to go with it; and, just for good measure, guns.

House frowned at Wilson's snickering. "He doesn't know--"

"That it's a girl's toy," Wilson finished. "I know."

"It's not like he picked out a Barbie." House doubted he could have allowed Chase to bring home a Barbie even if it would have made John crazy.

"I'm glad you didn't make an issue of it like your father tried to do," Wilson said seriously. "He's really sensitive to criticism and he's afraid to do anything wrong." He shook his head, "Poor kid."

"I don't think he even knows _how_ to have fun," House commented. "He's probably never had time between the language lessons and math tutoring." He took a gulp of his beer. "I don't suppose they have _How to Learn Czech for Preschoolers_ on DVD now?"

Wilson shrugged. "No idea. Are you going to keep tutoring him the way his fath--Rowan did?"

"I certainly can't teach him Czech and my Japanese is limited, but it's part of who Chase is."

"It's part of who Chase _was_. Along with probably being a social outcast because he couldn't fit in with his age peers."

"What are you saying?" House asked.

"Maybe, this go 'round, he can actually be a kid."

"He's still, more than likely, going to be smarter than anyone else in his class," House pointed out. "Hell, he's probably going to be smarter than his teachers."

"That doesn't mean he has to stand out like a little genius freak."

"Maybe I could try to help him reach his potential, but put him in the hospital daycare to let him learn some social skills too," House considered out loud. He imagined Chase in a normal preschool with children who were beginning to learn the alphabet and how to count while he was already reading and doing math in his head. "It's not going to work," he announced.

"What isn't going to work?" Wilson asked. "Daycare?"

"Kindergarten."

"It's a little early to worry--"

"No, it's not. He'll be bored. Then he'll become a nightmare. He'll stay in trouble all the time. The teacher will say he's not paying attention, but he'll get everything right when he's quizzed so the teacher will get mad and accuse him of being a little smartass and warn all her friends that he's a horrible kid. He'll get labeled as a behavior problem and every teacher will make sure he lives down to their expectations. He'll be blowing things up by the time he's eleven."

"Like you?" Wilson asked.

"Exactly."

"You can't keep him out of school."

"I'll home school him."

"You? You're going to quit your job to teach first grade?"

"Hell, no. I'll hire him a teacher. And he can stay in daycare at the hospital some too."

"There's a waiting list," Wilson warned him.

"Why do you know that?"

"I hear other employees complaining about it."

Whether it was a perk of being tenured or if Cuddy just pulled some strings, House had no trouble at all getting _his _child a space in the hospital daycare. All the trouble came afterward.

The amount of _stuff_ House had to take with Chase on the first day in the center made it look like they were moving. Each child was required to bring two changes of clothing and one pair of shoes. House thought that was perfectly reasonable given the average preschooler's proclivity for making a mess. What he thought was unreasonable was all the other things he had to bring including a mat for napping, paper towels, tissues, baby wipes, colors, snack foods, and zip-lock bags. In addition, House included several books intended for older children since he was sure Chase would be bored to tears by lower-level stories. Writing "Chase House" on the inside cover of each book was, perhaps, the strangest thing he had done so far.

House handed the Cars-themed book bag to Ms. Maggie, the worker who welcomed him and Chase to the daycare. "I brought him some books," he said. "Of course you can read them to the other children too."

Maggie laughed politely, "Oh, Dr. House, we have quite a library."

House nodded and responded seriously, "Since you didn't have tissues, I wasn't sure."

Maggie kept smiling. "Silly, Daddy! Kids go through so many we ask our parents to help supply some things, just like a public school."

House thought that to be an odd comparison since no one had to pay upwards of ten thousand dollars a year to send their child to public school. He leaned closer to Maggie, "Chase is a little more advanced than your average preschooler. I'm not sure _Green Eggs and Ham_ is going to hold his attention."

Maggie shook her head slightly. "Advanced seems to be the norm with doctors' kids," she said. House could almost see the quotation marks she put around _advanced._

"He's advanced for a doctor's kid," House warned her. "Take my word for it."

"Of course," Maggie said agreeably.

House could tell she was placating him. It made him hope that Chase would be overcome with the urge to tell her off in Japanese. Only, she would probably think he was just babbling nonsense and would not be nearly as impressed or as insulted as she should be.

For his part, Chase was sticking very close to House and watching and listening quietly while he talked to the strange frizzy-haired woman. Ms. Maggie had a medium build and plain features. She wore pale green scrubs covered with spotted puppies.

As soon as House let go of some of the stuff he had brought, Chase grabbed his hand and held on tightly. House did not necessarily like having a tiny hand holding onto his own, but he allowed it.

Chase watched the other children with one part fascination and two parts trepidation. This room was for four and five year olds only, so everyone was about his size. Chase saw three boys on the floor building a high rise of blocks. Closer to him was a girl who was sitting in a small rocking chair, pretending to feed a doll. Two other girls were looking through a toy chest and playing dress up with hats, purses, and feather boas. In addition to Maggie, another woman was keeping a watchful eye on the group.

"Do you want to say hello to Ms. Jaime and the other children?" Maggie asked, leaning down to talk to Chase.

Chase shook his head to say _no_ and moved even closer to House.

House patted his head. "I don't think he's been around other children very much."

Maggie's expression showed that she thought that was unusual. Perhaps she could already predict that the timid child lacked the normal social skills of the others.

"He's not a behavior problem," House assured her. "He's just shy. He doesn't know how to act around kids. He's very good with adults." _So long as you don't criticize him_, he added silently. He looked down at the boy who was clinging to him. He knew he should probably offer some kind of encouragement, but he was not sure of anything to say that would sound less than idiotic. He knew first impressions were very important and he hoped Chase would be able to blend in with the others. He was far more worried about Chase being too shy to fit in than he was about getting a call informing him that the boy had blown up the sand box. He knew Chase needed this exposure to other children as much as he needed to get back to work.

"Come with me, please," Maggie said to Chase, offering her hand.

Chase shook his head, tugged on House's untucked shirt tail and said one word. "Up."

House was surprised to say the least. Chase seemed much more like a two year old than an exceptionally bright four year old. It was no wonder that Maggie thought parents exaggerated their kids' skills. "I can't pick you up," House said. "Don't worry. You'll be okay here."

Chase looked disheartened.

"It's okay. You can stay here with Ms. Maggie and the other children."

"Can't I go with you? I'll be good."

"I know you'll be good. But I have to go to work."

"I could stay with Cammie or Foreman."

"Cameron and Foreman have to work too."

"I can help," Chase offered. "Wilson said I'm a good helper."

House smiled, imaging four year old Chase running a differential diagnosis. "I want you to stay here and play instead."

"I'll be good," Chase promised again in a desperate whine. "I'll be quiet and I'll stay out of the way. I want to go with you."

House hugged the child briefly. "I want you to stay here and have fun. Going to work is no fun for little boys. I promise you'll be safe right here with Ms. Maggie. You can make new friends too."

"Are you coming back?" Chase asked.

House sighed, realizing Chase was afraid of being abandoned. Between his mother's emotional abuse and the upheaval of his world, he expected to lose everything and everyone. "I'll be back at five-oh-five," he promised. "When we get home, we can watch a movie." The question made him ask one of his own. He turned to Maggie, "What time does the center close?"

"Eight o'clock," she answered. "We have extended hours to accommodate the staff."

When House made his promise, he had no idea that his patient would start seizing at four o'clock and go into cardiac arrest at four-forty-eight. Another hour of seizing followed. Eventually, she was stabilized and House realized he was very late to pick up his child. He wondered how he was supposed to get Chase home, fed, bathed, put to bed, and still figure out what was killing Gladys or whatever her name was. He had come to the conclusion that Chase would have to sleep on the couch in his office by the time he got to the center.

"Where have you been?" A very frazzled Maggie asked. "We've been paging you for over an hour."

"Saving a woman's life," House answered. "I'm not finished yet."

"Well, please find a minute to get your son to stop freaking out," Maggie demanded, leading him to one of the offices.

Jaime was sitting in a rocking chair, holding Chase who was sobbing in the most forlorn way House had ever heard.

"He's coming back," Jaime promised. "He's just running late." She looked up and saw House with Maggie. "Thank God!" she exclaimed. "Chase, look your daddy's finally here."

Chase looked up and saw House. For some reason, this only made him cry harder.

House rushed to him. Jaime stood to pass the child to House who traded his cane for his son and took a seat. Chase threw his arms around House's neck and held on for dear life. "Chase, what's wrong? Did you have a bad day?"

Jaime answered. "He was fine until five-fifteen. He thought you weren't coming back at all."

House rubbed Chase's back. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said. "I told you I'd come back at five-oh-five and I meant to, but I couldn't."

"But Mummy said," he hiccupped. "And then you didn't come back." He sucked in his breath and wailed.

"Don't think about any of those nasty things your mummy said," House told him in a soft voice. "I'm always going to come back for you. It's just sometimes people get really sick and I might be late because I have to help them. I'll try really hard to be on time though."

Jaime handed House a tissue so he could wipe Chase's eyes and nose.

"If for some reason I can't come at all, I'll send Wilson or Cameron, or Foreman, okay? I'm not going to get rid of you."

"I don't want another daddy. I want to stay with you," Chase begged. "I'll be good. Please don't get rid of me. Please let me stay with you."

"I'm not going to get rid of you," House promised, realizing that Chase was so hysterical that he was not quite comprehending everything he said.

"What if I do something wrong?" Chase asked. "What if you get tired of me like Mummy did? You can hit me if you want. Just don't get rid of me."

"I'm not like your mother," House reminded him. Knowing the child would rather be hit than alone stabbed at his heart. "Shhh," he soothed, still rubbing Chase's back. "I'm not going to get tired of you. I'm not going to abandon you. And I'm never, _ever_ going to hit you no matter what."

House tried to ignore the two women in the room, but it was difficult to do so. Both had somehow left behind their annoyance and frustration with Chase's crying when the child started talking about his fears. Jaime had tears slipping from her eyes and she reached out to pat Chase's shoulder. House disliked the idea of their knowing Chase had been through such emotional and physical abuse at the hands of his mother. It might serve to further ostracize him from the "normal" kids. On the other hand, it might help them realize why he might over-react like this on occasion.

"I want to stay with you forever," Chase cried.

"You can," House promised.

"I love you, Daddy." Chase hugged House so tightly that House thought he might choke him. "Please don't leave me."

"Shhh," House repeated. "Calm down. Everything's okay."

Chase's breath was still ragged.

"I know you're tired, baby. Just close your eyes, okay," House rocked him gently, while patting Chase's back.

Chase gave into the soothing motion and the security of being in his daddy's arms.

House turned to Jaime, "Could you call Dr. Foreman for me?"

She obliged him. Foreman did not even ask any questions about why he was being called to the daycare center.

"Did he eat his lunch?" House asked, keeping his voice low. "He's kind of a picky eater."

"He picked at it. We had chicken pot pie. I think he shoved all the chicken aside, but he didn't complain and he ate some of the crust."

"He's not used to American food," House explained. "He's not trying to cause trouble. Please don't get mad at him if he won't eat."

"We never force a child to eat," Maggie explained. "However, they have to learn a schedule. So, if he chooses to not eat lunch, he'll have to wait until snack time. We only offer alternative lunches in case of food allergy, but parents are welcome to send lunch for their kids. If he'll eat your cooking, you may want to do that for him."

House nodded, amused at the notion of himself cooking. If it were up to him, Chase would be eating a lot of cold grilled cheese sandwiches.

"I better see who that is," Jaime said. A buzzing sound alerted her that someone had entered the main room. She returned in a couple of minutes with Foreman.

"You needed me?" he asked, trying very hard to resist getting out his phone and taking a photo of House with Chase snuggling against him.

"Carry the kid," House ordered. "And try to not wake him up, okay?"

Foeman scooped Chase from House's arms, but the motion jarred him awake.

Chase blinked a few times and smiled, "Foreman!"

The next thing Foreman knew, he was being hugged too.

"Where's my daddy?" Chase asked, looking around.

"I'm here," House answered. "I thought you were sleeping, so I asked Foreman to carry you upstairs for me."

Chase nodded, content that House was just there. "I had to leave my kitty at home," he told Foreman. "Daddy said it would be safe there and that if I brought it all the other kids might get their feelings hurt because they don't have kitties too."

"That was considerate of your daddy," Foreman said. He was surprised by how happy Chase was to see him.

"It's my favorite toy," Chase told him. "I named him Tino and he sleeps in my bed every night. I want to get a real cat someday and when I do, I'll name him Tino too."

"You will?" Foreman asked. He looked to House wondering if he knew that Chase's master plan included a pet. "Do you think you'll get a real cat soon?"

"We might be able to get a cat someday," House said agreeably. The last thing he wanted to do was give the child any reason at all to be further upset.

"Did you go to work today too?" Chase asked Foreman. "I wanted to come help, but Daddy said I had to play instead. I'd rather play with you. We could draw more dinosaurs."

House listened to Foreman promise to draw more dinosaurs with Chase. He was surprised and pleased at how quickly the child had moved on from his abandonment crisis. Crying had definitely been covered for the day. But eating and sleeping were still on the to do list and it was getting late.

_AN: Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delay in updating. I was working on another story._


	14. Chapter 14

Once Chase was convinced that House was indeed going to return for him in the evenings, he began to adjust to the routine of daycare. He even started to make friends with the other children. He got along well with everyone, but his first best friend was Emily Degregorio, the girl who had been playing alone with a doll on his first morning at the center. She was the five year old daughter of Stanley Degregorio, one of the pediatric oncologists. She had long, straight dark hair that she usually wore in a pony-tail and chocolate brown eyes. Most of the other children would play with her for only a few minutes at a time because she was very bossy. Chase did not mind being told what to do though because the environment was so unfamiliar to him. Following Emily's lead made him feel more secure about his own actions.

It was snack time on Friday afternoon when Chase was surprised by Foreman's arrival. House had listed Wilson, Cameron, and Foreman as emergency contacts and given them permission to check his son out of the center as needed.

"Foreman!" Chase exclaimed when the man walked into the room. He abandoned his apple slices and ran to the neurologist for a hug.

"Hey, Little Man!" Foreman smiled. He kneeled down to hug the little boy. "Guess what!"

"What?"

"It's a slow day in the office so House said you could come visit."

"I can?"

"Yep, but first you have to finish your apple, okay?" he said, nodding toward the table.

Chase looked back at the three slices of fruit on his napkin. "I'm finished," he said.

Foreman laughed. "It doesn't look that way from here."

"Can you help me finish?" Chase asked. He grabbed Foreman's hand and led him to the table.

"I'm not hungry," Foreman answered.

"Is he your daddy?" Emily asked. Even asking a question she sounded bossy.

"No," Chase replied. "He's my Foreman."

"What's a Foreman?"

"_He's_ a Foreman," Chase explained. "He draws dinosaurs and stuff."

"How did you get a Foreman?" Emily asked.

Chase thought about it. "Well, I guess he's my Daddy's Foreman and my Daddy shares him with me."

Foreman shook his head as he listened to himself being discussed like a toy. At least he sounded like a _really cool _toy.

"I don't like dinosaurs," Emily stated very matter-of-factly. "They're big and mean and ugly."

"They're not all big," Chase said with a mouthful of apple.

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-uh." Chase responded. "They're not." He looked to Foreman. "Tell her!"

"Chase is right," Foreman said. "Some dinosaurs weren't very big at all."

"Oh," Emily said, having to accept his word for it. "I never saw a little dinosaur before."

"What's your friend's name?" Foreman asked Chase. The two seemed oblivious to the other children in the room.

"This is Emily," Chase answered. "She likes dolls and puzzles and playing pretend."

"Chase is my best friend," Emily announced proudly. "We're going to get married when we grow up. Then we'll have a baby and he'll be a daddy and I'll be a mommy."

Foreman laughed. At least the girl had vision.

Chase frowned. "You can't be a mommy."

"Why not?" Emily demanded.

"You're nice."

"Mommy's _are_ nice," she huffed.

Chase looked to Foreman to settle this argument too.

"_Most _mommies are nice," Foreman nodded, sad for Chase that he assumed otherwise.

"See, I told you," Emily said.

Chase took the information as true since Foreman said it, but it made him feel sad. He wondered why his own Mummy had not been very nice. He looked down at the two slices of apple left. "I don't want anymore." He pushed the apple away.

"You're supposed to finish your snacks," Emily reminded him.

"I'm not hungry," Chase responded. He picked up both slices and put them on Emily's napkin. "You can have them."

"No!" Emily shrieked. "They have germs!"

"Do not!" Chase argued. "Yesterday you wanted my animal crackers," he reminded her.

"Okay," Emily said, trying one of his apple slices. "I guess it's not too germy."

"Now I can go see Daddy," Chase told her happily.

Emily gave him a hug. "Have fun with the Foreman."

"I will."

They took the elevator and Foreman let Chase push the button for the fourth floor. Chase remembered exactly how to get to the Diagnostics office and he led the way. Foreman opened the door for him when they arrived and Chase rushed inside to give House a hug. "Daddy!" he exclaimed.

"Hi there," House said giving him a quick hug.

"Where's Cammie?" Chase asked, looking for her through the glass of the connecting office.

"I think she went to find some toys or something," House answered. "She'll be back soon. What did you do today?"

"Ms. Jaime read a story about a bear who wished on the stars and all her wishes came true until one didn't so she tried to make it come true without the star. I played a game with Emily and we had to take a nap. I don't like naps."

"Naps are good for you."

"Naps are for babies!"

"And four year olds."

"Do I have to take a nap when I'm five?"

"We'll see," House acquiesced. "Did you eat your lunch?"

Chase nodded. "We had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Everyone except Caden. He's allergic to peanuts."

"That can be very dangerous," House told him. "It's a good thing they didn't give him any peanut butter."

"Cammie!" Chase exclaimed, forgetting all about naps and sandwiches when he saw the woman enter the room with a shopping bag. He ran to her and hugged her before she even had time to set the bag down.

House never would have admitted it, but he was happy to see that Chase was so affectionate with the others. He was not as damaged by his mother as he could have been; or at least he had the resiliency to recover from the damage she had inflicted.

"Hello, Chase!" she smiled, patting his back. "I've missed you." It still pained her to see this little boy who had replaced the man she had known. Sometimes she felt like she was the only one who missed the real Chase, or at least the only one who had any hope that he might come back somehow.

"I missed you too," Chase told her. "Foreman came and got me from daycare."

"Let's look at what I got us to play with," she said, getting him to follow her to the table.

She pulled a booklet, paintbrushes, and a trays of watercolor paints from her bag and set them on the table. "I have enough brushes for everyone," she said pointedly to House and Foreman. She gave the booklet to Chase. "Pick out a picture that you'd like to paint and I'll tear it out of the book for you."

Chase leafed through the book while Cameron opened the paint trays. She was interrupted by Foreman who handed her part of the day's newspaper.

"Good idea," Cameron said, realizing what Foreman was doing. She gathered the materials from the table and they covered it with newspaper before she set the brushes and tray back in place.

Chase selected a picture of a giraffe eating leaves from a tall tree and Cameron tore the page out of the book for him, then handed him a paintbrush. She poured a small amount of water on each spot of paint and demonstrated how to mix the water and color to get a good sample of paint.

Foreman set a coffee cup full of water in front of Chase. "When you want to change colors, dip your brush in the water to clean it."

"Aren't you going to paint with us?" Cameron asked House.

"I have charting to do," he lied, not taking his eyes off his handheld video game. "You kiddies play nice."

Cameron rolled her eyes. She tore a couple of pages from the book for her and Foreman to paint. She had a pack of lions and Foreman got a family of elephants.

"How do you like staying in the daycare center?" Cameron asked as she started the task of painting her picture.

"I'd rather go to work with Daddy," Chase told her. "But I guess it's okay. Emily's nice. What color am I supposed to pain the giraffe?"

"You can paint it any color you want," Foreman told him.

"What if I get it wrong?"

"There is no _wrong_," Cameron said. "You can use your imagination."

"I colored a tree purple once and my other daddy told me I was being stupid because trees aren't purple. He threw the picture away."

"That just means you have a better imagination than he did," House interjected, angry at the other man for being so rigid. "You can make all the purple trees you want."

Cameron had wet her own brush with yellow paint for a lioness, but she cleaned it and got a dab of purple. "I'm going to make a purple lion. I think it's a pretty color."

"I'm going to make a purple elephant," Foreman said, also dabbing at the purple paint.

Chase laughed, not realizing Cameron and Foreman were both acting in defiance of Rowan Chase. "Then I'm going to make a purple tree."

All three painted silently for a few minutes.

"We might run out of purple," Chase observed getting another dab for the leaves he was painting.

"We'll make more," Foreman said. "Watch." He dabbed some red paint onto the paint tray's cover, washed the brush, then added blue paint to the red and mixed them together. "Look, red and blue make purple."

"Cool!" Chase gushed. "Can I try?"

"Of course you can. Be sure to wash your brush between colors."

Chase carefully made his own mix of purple paint. "Look, I did it too."

"Do you know what happens when you mix blue and yellow?"

Chase shook his head.

"Green!"

Chase had to test this theory for himself. "I made green!" he announced.

"That's pretty," Cameron told him, smiling.

"How do you make blue?" Chase asked.

Foreman thought about it for a moment. "Um, you don't make blue. It's a primary color like red and yellow. That means you use them to make other colors. If you mix red and yellow, you get orange; red and blue, purple; blue and yellow, green."

"Then where does the blue come from?" Chase asked, fascinated by the idea.

Foreman was stumped. He had never thought about it before. "It's…" he looked to Cameron for help. She did not have an answer either. "Blue is basic," he said. "It's like a building block and you use it to make other colors."

Chase blinked, thinking about the answer. "So it's like blue was there first?"

"Um, yeah," Foreman said, glad that Chase had given himself an explanation. "Blue has always been there."

"Like… God?" Chase asked, his eyes wide.

"Sure," Foreman agreed.

"But where did it come from?"

Foreman looked to House who was watching them, clearly amused. He had never felt quite so stupid in his life. He could tell you how the brain worked, but he just told a four-year-old that blue was like God.

House must have been softening because he put Foreman out of his misery. "Blue comes from the sky," he answered.

"Okay." Chase nodded, accepting that answer. He got back to the task of painting his picture.

Cameron looked at Foreman and smiled, trying very hard to not laugh. Foreman just shrugged and shook his head.

Chase finished his tree and moved on to paint his giraffe. He washed his brush and then decided which color to make his giraffe. "Hey, Foreman," he said. "Where does red come from?"

_AN: Sorry for taking so long to update. I've been insanely busy lately. Thanks for reading and commenting! I love hearing from you. :-)_


	15. Chapter 15

"I never thought I'd see the day," Wilson shook his head, laughing. House was pushing a cart full of toys through a crowded Geoffrey store while Chase was at daycare not suspecting a thing. "You don't have enough room for all his stuff now."

"I will have by Christmas," House answered. "I got the apartment upstairs."

"_Stairs_?"

"There's an elevator."

"What if the power's out?"

"I'm not completely helpless, you know." House frowned. He could walk up stairs if necessary. It would just take him a little longer than someone else. He liked his building and he wanted to stay there, but he also needed a two bedroom place since he had a kid to raise.

"I know," Wilson agreed. He did not bother to say that his concern was as House got older, he might have less mobility. He picked up a high velocity water gun. "How's this?"

House saw that it was huge, held at least a pint of water and would fire for twenty feet. "Get two!" He could imagine himself standing on the balcony at the hospital, training Chase to aim at Cuddy. And how could Cuddy possibly get angry at that adorable little boy? He laughed an evil laugh.

Wilson arched one brow. "I don't want to know."

"You're right. You don't." He added the two guns to his cart. "I had to get him out of his lease, you know," he announced, surprising Wilson with the drastic change in topic.

Wilson nodded, realizing how hard that must have been, not only to accept that Chase was stuck this way forever but also to get a landlord to believe that House had any right to do anything with Chase's apartment. "I would have helped you."

"I got Cameron to go with me. Chase's landlord recognized her as his friend."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him Chase had been in a coma and that's why I had paid the rent the past two months, but that he died. Cameron was crying so much that he believed me. So he let me get Chase's stuff out." He shrugged, "I couldn't pay his rent and mine forever."

"Do you think it's too soon? I mean, what if he changes back?"

"It's been nearly three months, Wilson. Do you really think he's going to go to bed four tonight and wake up thirty tomorrow?"

Wilson smiled, watching House decide between a black or brown plastic horse with a cowboy companion. "I think it's going to feel like that to you someday."

"Hmm…" House grunted, not committing a response to that hypothesis. "So, you coming over for Christmas?"

"If you want me to."

"Yeah," House answered.

"Okay," Wilson agreed. He already knew exactly what he was going to buy House for Christmas this year.

*******

House was grateful for professional movers. They made the transition to the new apartment relatively painless. He put most of Chase's things from his apartment in storage, but he decided to move the bedroom furniture to Chase's new bedroom even though the full size bed seemed quite large for a four year old. House reasoned that Chase needed a bed and he already had a bed and this was one way he could keep something from his old life. A major difference was that now his bed was covered with dinosaurs. The bedroom curtains matched the comforter and House had even sprung for framed prints to complete the motif.

He knew he had made the right decision about the bed when he showed Chase his brand new room which he did not know was arranged much like his old room.

"Is it for me?" Chase asked, eyes wide.

"All yours," House said. "See how you like it."

Chase ran to the bed and jumped on it and laughed. He looked over the edge, his hair falling forward as he leaned over. "It's a long way down!"

House smiled, sure that it did look like a long way down when compared to practically sleeping on the floor. "I hope you don't fall out."

"I'm not gonna fall out," Chase protested as though insulted that he might do such a baby-like thing.

"You might," House suggested.

"Have you ever fallen out of bed?"

House opened his mouth to answer but decided that story was best left untold. "Of course not. I'm a big boy who sleeps in a big boy bed."

"I'm a big boy too," Chase insisted. "I like my bed." He laid back on the pillows. "This is awesome." He moved his arms and legs as if he were making a snow angel.

"Good. Now you won't mind naps so much."

Chase sat up at that. His expression said that he was not so sure he agreed with that theory. "Is the lamp for me too?" he asked, noticing it sitting on the night stand.

"Yep." It had also come from Chase's apartment. It was made from iron and had a silk shade. It did not really look like it belonged in the room of a small child, but House thought it was nice and functional. "Everything here is yours. It's your room. There are your clothes in the closet and your toys in the toy chest." He pointed to the large wooden box at the foot of the bed.

"I had my own room before," Chase said. "I kind of remember it."

"Really?" House asked. He had wondered if Chase was forgetting his life in Australia. He rarely mentioned either parent and spoke of his dear Granny only about once a day. He was starting to sound more like an American child too, though he had not completely lost the Aussie accent. "What was it like?" House asked, hoping Chase would remember. He felt like he was personally responsible for robbing him of his old life. He made his way to the bed and sat down with his son.

"Um, there was carpet that was blue and a big window where I could sit. Sometimes Mummy would sit with me and we'd read a book."

House was surprised, even pleased, to hear of a pleasant memory of his mother. "What was your favorite book?" he asked, feeling guilty. He never read to Chase, assuming he was read to at daycare. He did not try to teach him math or languages either. At this rate he was going to let this very bright child become almost ordinary. Rowan Chase was probably somewhere putting some Czechoslovakian curse on him from beyond the grave.

"I liked The Velveteen Rabbit. It has fuzzy pages and the rabbit became a real rabbit."

"You like anything to do with animals, don't you?" House commented. That was one thing he had never figured out about Chase when he had been a fellow.

Chase nodded, "They're the best." He scooted toward House. "Do you like animals too?"

"Sure," House said. He had never had Chase's enthusiasm for cats, dogs, or horses; but he supposed he did not dislike animals, particularly when they were converted to steaks. "I like cows best."

"Cows make milk. And butter. And cheese," Chase told him.

"And hamburgers." House added.

Chase looked confused. "Hamburgers come from milk?"

"No," House smiled. "They come from cows."

"But… how?"

"They're meat," House explained, surprised that Chase did not know this already. He understood about chickens. "You know, like chicken nuggets come from chickens."

"Do they have to die?"

House nodded.

"That's sad."

"It's okay. That's what cows are for. They help people have food."

"But they _die_."

"It's a noble death," House answered him in a serious tone.

"What does that mean?"

"It's a good way to go. The cows can be proud that they're doing something good."

"I still think it's sad."

House shrugged, "Maybe a little."

"Does _everything_ die?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What about the Velveteen Rabbit? It came to life. Did it come to life and then die later?"

"Stuffed animals can't really come to life you know."

"Yeah, I guess," Chase looked down. "So, did it die too?" he persisted.

"If it didn't really come to life, it didn't die." House was starting to understand why parents encouraged fantasy. It was disturbing that Chase was so inquisitive about death and it probably would have been a lot easier to just say that the rabbit lived forever.

"Why did…" Chase stopped mid-question, suddenly shy.

"What, baby?"

"Why did my family die?" He looked up. "I mean, it's okay because I'm with you, but…"

House could not help but feel something, knowing that Chase was trying to pay mind to his feelings. Maybe it was pride in knowing his child was so sensitive. Maybe it was wonder in knowing that he had had nothing to do with it.

"It's okay to miss your family." He put his arm around the little boy's shoulders. "I know you loved them. It doesn't hurt my feelings that you still love them."

"But I love you too," Chase was quick to point out. "I just, I just don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"I'm here and everyone's gone and I don't know how I got here. Nobody said goodbye."

"I don't understand everything either," House confessed with a sigh. "I'm really sorry you lost your family and didn't get to say goodbye. But you want to know something?"

Chase nodded.

"I'm really glad that you came to me."

"You are?"

"Yeah," House admitted with a nod. For a start, he was grateful that, in his hands, Chase's medical history would change for the better. Everything in his life was going to be better if House had anything to do with it. He promised himself that he would let Chase become what he wanted to be, even if it was not a doctor. Yet his gratitude was not only about the change that would take place for Chase. There had been a change in himself that he knew was for the better. Even Foreman had softened and shown more humanity.

"Do you--" Chase started and stopped.

"Do I what?"

"Do you love me?"

House could feel those hopeful blue eyes beseeching him for assurance. "Of course I do," he answered. He might not ever say it, but he showed it. "Having you for a son is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Did my other Papa love me too?"

"I believe he did," House answered. "I believe he was very proud of you."

"What about Mummy?"

House had to pause before answering that one. Her cruelty was not the behavior of a woman who loved her child. She had failed him. But could Chase understand that it was his mother who had the shortcomings and that her actions were not a reflection of his worth? It went against his nature, but he answered, "I think she loved you." Still, he knew he had to make sure Chase knew that loving someone was not an excuse to hurt them. "But, she was wrong to treat you the way she did. You're not supposed to hurt people you love. You're not even supposed to hurt people you don't like."

"Then why did she hurt me?"

"You know, for a little boy, you sure ask big questions."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," House laughed. He could see himself in the child. "I asked a lot of questions when I was your age too." He inhaled, thinking through his response. "I don't really know why your mother hurt you. But I think she was sick. I don't mean like she was sick like you or me when we get a cold. I think she had an illness that affected the way she thought and acted."

He waited while Chase considered his words. It was a lot for someone so young to try to understand. For that matter, it was a lot for House himself to try to understand.

"So she didn't mean to be mean?"

"I want to think so."

"I bet you could have made her better."

"Me?"

Chase nodded. "You're the best doctor in the whole world."

House gave him a wistful smile. There were some things that even he did not know how to fix. He stood and motioned for Chase to follow him. "Come on. We've got some unpacking to do."

_AN: Don't hate me! I'm sorry it's taken so long to update. I've been swamped at work and had a lot to deal with at home too. Thanks for reading. Thanks for all the amazing comments. I hope everyone has happy holidays and a Merry Christmas!_


	16. Chapter 16

_AN: I hope you haven't o.d.'d on Christmas cheer. He are all the warm fuzzies that my personal Christmas was not. Thanks for all the comment! You guys really inspire me to keep writing this! Happy New Year!_

"Is that enough?" Wilson asked.

"Um… no," Chase answered thoughtfully.

"How about now?"

"More!" Chase giggled.

Wilson laughed as he added even more marshmallows to Chase's cup of hot cocoa. He had the little boy sitting on the kitchen counter while he watched over the Christmas dinner. "Don't you want any cocoa with those marshmallows?"

"Smile," House interrupted. He was putting to use the digital camera Wilson gave him. Wilson had insisted that House open his present immediately after he arrived so that he could use it.

Wilson leaned closer to Chase and Chase looked up and smiled at his father. The flash went off and they both blinked away yellow starbursts.

"That's the best one so far," House commented, reviewing the photograph on the screen. He had really gotten into using the camera and taken candid shots including Wilson sticking a honey-roasted turkey in the oven to heat and the toy cat sitting on the couch "watching" _Mary Poppins_ on television. The large screen set had come from Chase's apartment and House had moved his smaller, older TV into his bedroom. With the larger apartment, House had incorporated as many of Chase's things as he could since the rest was to be kept in storage indefinitely.

"Why don't you let me take some of you and Chase?" Wilson suggested for the third time. House seemed to be camera-shy.

"Yeah," Chase agreed. He took a swallow of his marshmallow filled cocoa and wound up with a frothy moustache. House snapped a picture. "We should take pictures of Daddy."

"Oh, all right," House agreed reluctantly. He handed the camera over to Wilson. "But no pictures of me without you," he said, mimicking Wilson's most recent pose with Chase.

Chase threw his arms around House and kissed his cheek.

Wilson smiled, reviewing that shot. "I'm making a poster of that to hang at the hospital. It'll be great for the PR department."

House sort of grunted then said, "I want a cup of cocoa just like that one."

Chase offered his cup to House. "We can share."

Wilson snapped more pictures as House helped Chase get down from the counter and took his cocoa into the living room.

Chase climbed onto the sofa and put Tino on his lap. "When will Foreman get here?" he asked.

"He had to pick up something on his way," House said. "He'll be here soon. Take your toy trucks to your room," he instructed, pointing to the two trucks that were on the floor by the couch.

"What about Cammie?" Chase asked as he picked up the trucks.

"She's shopping."

"Can we decorate the tree when they get here?" Chase inquired. House had bought and set up a seven foot tall artificial imperial pine with multi-colored lights. There were already a few boxes under the tree.

"That's the plan."

"When will they get here?"

"Soon," House answered. He waved his hand to instruct Chase to move along. "Hurry and put your toys away. You can leave the stuffed animal."

Chase wandered to his room while Wilson sat in the recliner adjacent to the couch. "Dinner's ready. We can eat when Cameron and Foreman get here."

Oddly enough, it had been Foreman who suggested the make-shift "family" gathering for Chase's benefit. House had done his part to ensure that Chase would receive a ton of presents on Christmas morning, but Foreman thought that was not enough. Since Chase had lost his entire family just a couple of months earlier, Foreman believed he needed to be surrounded by his surrogate family at Christmas and he had no trouble convincing the others. He had no plans to go home for the holidays and Cameron decided to stay in New Jersey too.

Wilson spent Christmas Eve planning and preparing a traditional dinner including turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, peas, and candied yams with pumpkin pie for dessert. He had no qualms about celebrating the holiday despite his Jewish heritage.

Chase returned and they watched _Mary Poppins _quietly for a few minutes before the doorbell rang.

"Can I get it?" Chase asked, already on his feet and headed for the door.

"Go ahead," House replied.

Chase opened the door and found Cameron standing there with several bags full of items. "Merry Christmas!" he said.

"Merry Christmas to you too," Cameron smiled, handing off several of her packages to Wilson who brought them inside and set them by the tree. "I got the decorations for the tree," she told him. House had given her the money to buy things, trusting that she would pick out items that would look much nicer than the ratty old ornaments and garland he had in storage.

Chase took her hand and led her to the couch. "Daddy said we can decorate the tree when Foreman gets here."

"After dinner," House amended.

Chase looked at him with the first trace of a pout in his expression.

"Wilson worked really hard to make us dinner and it will get cold if we decorate first."

"But--"

"Chase," House said his name firmly. That was all he had to say.

"Okay." He turned back to Cameron, "What kind of decorations did you get? Can I see them?"

"Sure," Cameron answered. She took him to the tree to show him the ornaments and ribbon.

The doorbell rang again and, once more, Chase asked if he could get it.

"I'll get it this time," House told him. He went to the door, opened it, stepped outside for a couple of minutes, then came back inside with Foreman.

"Hey, Little Man!" Foreman said as Chase welcomed him with a hug.

"You're here!" Chase exclaimed happily.

"Sorry it took so long," Foreman apologized. It warmed his heart that Chase was so happy to see him.

"Now we can eat and decorate the tree!" Chase continued, erasing just a tiny bit of Foreman's joy. Perhaps he was more excited about the tree than about Foreman's arrival.

"Okay, everyone to the table," House ordered as he shut off the TV. Much to the surprise of the other adults in the room, he then turned on the stereo and found a station playing Christmas music. He adjusted the volume so that the carols would be little more than background noise.

Dinner passed quickly, though not quite quickly enough for Chase who was eager to decorate the tree. He tried the turkey only after Wilson promised him it really was not chicken and would not make him sick.

"You're so lucky," Cameron told House. "I've never seen a four year old who would eat green beans without complaining," she said, watching Chase eat his casserole without protest.

House told her, "He'll eat vegetables and bread when he won't eat anything else, but those McNuggets scarred him for life."

"Sorry," Cameron shrugged.

Chase looked up and announced, "Finished." It was fairly obvious that his ultimate goal was getting to decorate.

Foreman was next to clear his plate. "Let's put the kid out of his misery," he suggested. "We should save the pie for later."

"Excellent idea," Wilson agreed.

Soon, everyone was gathered again in the living room while Cameron and Foreman did the bulk of the decorating per Chase's ideas of what should go where. They wrapped wide red and silver ribbon around the tree before adding large red and silver shatter-proof balls. Cameron knew she had made the right choice in avoiding glass ornaments after Chase dropped no less than four and even Foreman dropped a couple. It was amusing to watch the large plastic balls bounce on the hardwood floor and skid off in different directions.

"Are you two going to do anything?" Foreman asked as he placed a couple of snowmen on the tree.

"I'm capturing this for posterity. Smile," House said as he took a photo, the flash going off before Foreman had a chance to pose. He was caught with his mouth wide open.

"I'm Jewish," Wilson reminded him with a smirk. He was also tired.

While Foreman helped Chase put some capiz stars and snowflakes near the top of the tree, Cameron sat down with the spool of ribbon and fashioned a giant bow to put at the top of the tree. She handed it over to House when she finished. "Your turn."

House would have insisted that his son be allowed to place the mass of ribbon on top, but he doubted he would be able to tie it in place properly. He was slightly annoyed when the camera flashed as he situated the bow. He turned to Chase, "Are you ready to see this thing light up?"

Chase nodded. Foreman flipped the light switch to off as House plugged in the tree.

The child clapped happily as the tree filled the room with a soft, multi-colored glow.

"It's so pretty!" Cameron gushed. "Good job, Chase!"

"Are we ready for pie?" Wilson asked.

"I don't know," House said. "I think there are some presents _someone_ needs to open tonight."

Chase looked at the adults in the room who had all turned to look at him. "I have presents?"

Cameron kneeled by the tree and picked up a box, "This one is for Chase," she said, handing it to him. "And so is this one," she said of a smaller, softer package.

House told Foreman to turn the lights back on so Chase could see his presents.

"It's okay, you can open them," House said, sitting on the couch again. He motioned for Chase to come sit between him and Wilson.

Chase tore the reindeer covered paper from the first box. House helped him pull two ceramic bowls from the box.

"For cereal!" Chase exclaimed. "There's one for you and one for me."

House smiled. "Maybe. See what's next."

Chase tore blue and white snowman paper from the small package. "It's a tiny stocking," he announced.

House nodded to Foreman who traded places with Wilson.

"Hey, buddy," he started. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I got this letter today. Want to read it with me?"

Chase nodded, leaning closer to Foreman so he could see the words on the paper.

"Dear Foreman," the man read aloud. "I need you to help me with a very special present for a very special little boy. He's got a new family and a new daddy, but he needs a special little friend. Please go to 1225 St. Nicholas Square. You'll know it when you see it. Love, Santa Claus."

Chase looked up to Foreman, "What is it?" He followed Foreman's stare to Wilson who was standing by the door. Wilson opened the door, then brought inside a medium-sized black canvas bag that had a bright red bow on top.

"Let's see what's inside," Wilson urged, handing the carrier to Chase.

Chase could already see what was inside through the mesh fabric. "It's a kitty!" he squealed. "It's a kitty!"

House reached over Chase to unzip the opening. He pulled a tiny tuxedo kitten from the carrier and placed it on Chase's lap. The kitten had nearly symmetrical markings, with all four legs and his underbelly being white. His mouth and nose were white and the intersection of black and white fur made him look as if he were wearing a mask over his eyes. The white fur extended to a point on his forehead, but the top of his head, his ears, and his upper body, and tail were black.

Chase hugged the kitten, rubbing his cheek against the soft fur and planting a kiss on the top of his head.

"This is a very special kitty," Foreman said. "His name is Andy and his mommy died and he was raised by a nice lady who searched really hard to find him a forever home. Santa was hoping Andy could stay here with you and House."

"Can he?" Chase asked hopefully, looking to House.

"I think that would be perfect," House answered. "Of course, a pet is a really big responsibility." He thought about the litter box that was waiting just outside the door. What had he gotten himself into?

"I'll take good care of him, Daddy! I promise."

"You can give him another name if you want to," House told him, remembering that he had once told Foreman he was going to name a pet cat Tino.

"He already has a name," Chase said, petting him gently. "Right, Andy?"

"I think Andy is a fine name," Cameron added, reaching down to pet the kitten. "He's so cute." She had taken over picture-taking duty while House helped Chase retrieve the cat from the carrier.

"I think he likes you," Wilson said, watching the kitten snuggle closer to the little boy.

"I love him!" Chase exclaimed, holding him closely while also leaning over to hug House. "Thank you!"

"Don't thank me. Thank Santa Claus."

"I bet Santa had to ask you first," Chase reasoned.

"Maybe," House winked. He looked at his watch. "I think it's almost time for little boys and little kittens to go to bed."

"After they have pie," Wilson interjected.

House watched his little boy nuzzle the kitten who was purring loudly. For the first time since he had become a parent, he was sure that Chase was, in that moment, truly happy. "After they have pie," he agreed.


	17. Chapter 17 The Ending I Intended, Part 1

_The Ending I Intended, Part One_

Chase awoke on Christmas morning to see a black and white ball of fur next to him on his pillow. He kissed the kitten's head and said, "Wake up, Andy. It's Christmas morning!"

The tiny cat yawned and stretched its legs, already purring. Chase took the kitten in his hands, then hopped out of bed. He carried Andy with him as he tiptoed to House's room. Peeking inside, he saw that House was still asleep. "Shhh," he shushed Andy. He turned around and headed to the kitchen.

He stopped for a moment when he saw all the presents under the Christmas tree, but he was certain that he would get in trouble if he dared to touch them before House awoke. That was the way it had been with his Mummy. It was exciting to think about the presents, but he had had such expectations for perfect behavior drilled into him, that he could resist the temptation to go rip away the paper to find out what treasures were hidden.

When he got to the kitchen, he set Andy on the floor. The kitten scurried to his bowl full of food and began to eat. "It's Christmas, so I need to do something nice for Daddy," Chase whispered. "Wilson showed me how to scramble an egg, so I'm going to make him breakfast. Then we can see what Santa left." He explained things to his furry friend.

First, he needed an egg. Chase went to the refrigerator and opened the door. He found the carton of medium sized eggs and took them to the table. He realized he needed a skillet, so he looked in the shelf next to the dishwasher where all the pots and pans were stacked. Careful to not make a lot of noise, he pulled a large skillet from the collection.

He set the skillet on a chair because it was lower than the table and easy for him to see what he was doing. He opened the egg carton and retrieved an egg, then tapped it on the side of the skillet. He let the egg plop into the skillet, got most of the shell out, set the empty shell on the table, then cracked another one. He bit his lower lip, determining whether or not that was enough egg to make a good sandwich. He decided he better add a few more, just to be safe.

Wilson had added something else. What was it? He thought and thought, then decided that it had been salt. He leaned across the table so he could reach the salt shaker and then seasoned the raw eggs. "Do you think that's enough?" he whispered to Andy who jumped onto the chair and started to lick the food in the skillet.

"Don't eat Daddy's eggs!" Chase scolded, picking the cat up and putting him on the floor. It took both hands for him to transfer the cumbersome skillet from the chair to the stove. When he got to the stove, he realized he was too short to reach the controls at the back of the appliance or to stir the eggs like Wilson had shown him. He would have to drag a chair from the table to the stove. So he did.

He climbed into the chair and studied the knobs on the stovetop. He could read Hi, Lo, and the numerals two through nine between the words. It was easy enough to figure out which knob controlled which eye based on the diagrams next to the controls. He decided that Hi was probably best, so he twisted the knob until the arrow pointed to it. The glass top burner started to glow red under the skillet.

Chase realized he did not have anything to stir the eggs with, so he climbed out of the chair and rummaged through a drawer until he found a spoon. With the spoon in one hand, he started to climb onto the chair again. The chair wobbled as he stepped up. He dropped the metal spoon as he tried to catch his balance, but it was too late. Both Chase and the spoon fell backward as the chair toppled over.

*******************************

House awoke to the sounds of metal and wood clattering to the floor and his son's startling yelp. Then there was silence and in a split second that silence scared House more than he had been frightened since having a gun pointed squarely at him. He threw the covers back, grabbed his cane from where it was hung on his headboard and rushed into the kitchen.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight before him. There were eggs burning on the stove, a chair was toppled over, and a small kitten was sitting on the chest of a very adult Chase whose was unconscious with blood pooling under his head.

House prioritized his actions, rushing to the stove to turn it off and move the skillet to a cool eye before a fire started. He then knelt beside Chase to check for a pulse. He could tell from the blood smear on the table that Chase had fallen backwards, hitting his head on the squared edge of the wood.

The kitten jumped away from Chase when House leaned over him which was just as well because House did not need its interference. He was relieved to find that Chase's airway was not blocked and that he had a strong pulse. He got up, grabbed his phone and called 911 as he hurried to the bathroom for some towels.

"What's your emergency?" an operator asked. House could tell from his tone of voice that he was not thrilled to be working on Christmas morning.

"My son is unconscious. He slipped or fell and hit his head on the table. He has an open wound that's bleeding. I need to get him to Princeton Plainsboro. I need an ambulance." He gave the operator his address as he gathered his supplies.

He returned to the kitchen. He carefully pressed a towel to Chase's head and applied pressure to the part of the wound that he could see, but he was careful to not move his head in case there was a spinal injury.

"Chase? Chase, can you hear me?" he asked. He continued though there was no response. "What happened?" He looked around the kitchen and could tell that Chase had intended to make eggs. It was obvious from the egg shells on the table and the chair next to the stove that it had been a four year old who started the project. But, given the distance between the stove and the table, Chase had changed back into his adult form as he fell.

"Damn," he said, realizing how strange his kitchen looked. He left Chase long enough to clear the egg shells and put the chair back where it belonged. He did not want the EMT's to wonder why an adult would have made such a mess. He hoped they would not pay any attention to the Christmas tree with ample presents wrapped in paper with animated character themes.

They did not. The ambulance arrived and Chase was whisked away to the hospital. The EMTs allowed House to ride in the ambulance either because he was a world famous doctor or because he was a very worried, crippled parent. Whatever the reason, it mattered little to House so long as he got to be there.

He kept looking at Chase and wondering how it had happened. How had he turned back into his adult self? Not only how, but why? Why _now_? His heart sank lower the closer they got to the hospital. He knew he had lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

_As you can guess from the title of this chapter, you guys have talked me into doing two separate endings. I love my readers! _


	18. Chapter 18 The Ending I Intended Part 2

_The Ending I Intended, Part 2_

"Why are you here?" Wilson asked, taking a seat in House's office without an invitation.

"Where should I be?" House snapped. "Why are _you_ here? It's Christmas."

"And that affects me deeply," Wilson said. If House had been paying attention for the past decade, he might have remembered that Wilson made an effort to see at least his pediatric cases every Christmas. "How's Chase? I heard he's got a Grade V concussion."

House had stayed with Chase until they got to the emergency room, but he watched from a distance as he got a CT scan and stitches. Chase had woken up only long enough for the doctors to ascertain that he was extremely confused and in a lot of pain. House did not ask specifically what Chase said when the attending in the emergency room reported back to him. He was just glad that whatever it was could have been chalked up to a serious head injury. "He fractured his skull and has the worst headache of his life, but there's no internal bleeding. He'll have to be watched carefully for a few days."

"So why aren't you with him?"

"Because we have a staff of highly qualified nurses who can watch him."

"He needs _you_."

"He's unconscious again thanks to the wonders of opiates. What difference would it make if I was there?"

"He'd know _you_ were there." Wilson once more emphasized the importance of House's presence and of House himself.

"And why would Chase care if I was there?" House quibbled.

"He's your son."

House said nothing. He pretended to be interested in a file that had been on his desk for nearly a week.

Wilson reached over and took the file from House. He laid it flat on the desk. "Whether he's four or forty, he's still your son."

"Is he?" House asked. "If she can bounce him back and forth between ages, what's to say that bitch didn't manipulate me into believing he's mine?" He had almost forgotten about Ivana Whit. She had done her deed and it had been so long since that he never expected to hear from her again. "I don't _know_ that I slept with his mother. Do you have any idea how many blondes with British accents you can find in Florida at any given time?"

"Do another DNA test," Wilson suggested.

"I already have," House admitted.

Wilson looked flabbergasted. "So it'll be three or four days until you get the results? Maybe longer with the holidays?"

House reached into his desk and retrieved an envelope. He shoved it toward Wilson. "I had it run with the hair from the brush that Cameron got out of his locker."

Wilson saw that it was from the genetics department of Princeton General. It was unfathomably sealed. Wilson could not understand how House could have an answer and leave himself in the dark. It went against everything he knew about the man. "So, open it," he instructed, turning the envelope on its end so that he could break the seal himself.

House snatched it back. "Don't!" he ordered.

Wilson was stunned into brief silence. He watched House for a moment. The contents of that envelope could either give House something he wanted or take away what he had. "How long have you had the results?" he prodded.

House shrugged. "A few weeks," he lied. He had had that envelope for at least two months.

"Why haven't you opened it?"

"It didn't matter," House answered. "It wouldn't have changed anything."

Wilson smiled. "You weren't going to give him up even if he wasn't really yours," he deduced. Apparently, it had not taken long for Chase to worm his way into House's heart. And now House was trying to protect himself by putting up walls.

"Exactly who would I have given him to? Cameron? No kid deserves that. Cuddy? The first thing she did was make him cry."

"Well, so did you," Wilson reminded him.

"Not _first_ thing." House argued. "Besides, one more drastic change and he would have had a psychotic break. That's just not pretty in the preschool set."

"So, if it didn't matter either way, why didn't you look at the results?"

"I figured if I was stuck with him I might as well keep believing he was mine."

"Why?"

"I might treat him differently if he wasn't."

"It would have made it easier for you to throw in the towel when he turned into a prepubescent monster."

"Yeah."

"And you might have loved him less?" Wilson continued.

"Maybe."

"Aha!" Wilson exclaimed. "So you admit you love him!"

House glared. "I _have_ loved before." Contrary to popular belief, his heart was not a shriveled black lump.

"So go see him."

"And say what?"

"What do you feel?"

"I _feel_ like turning him over my knee even though I said I never would. I _feel_ like grounding him for ten years for playing with the stove, nearly setting the building on fire, and almost killing himself. And, by the way, this is all your fault."

"_My_ fault?" Wilson balked. "What did I do?"

"You made him think he could cook eggs. You know how smart and yet incredibly naïve he is! You can't let a four year old play with stoves or ovens or even coffee pots!"

"I never thought I'd get parenting advice from you."

"Don't worry. It won't happen again." House's mood became even more dour.

"House, you can still be a parent. You can start by going to see him."

"That's not Chase," House sighed. "Not my Chase anyway."

"You've been his dad for months. He's yours."

"Have I?" House asked. "I played Daddy to a child who had no memory of ever being an adult. What makes you think that adult is going to remember his second childhood?"

"That's what you're afraid of? That he won't remember you? That he won't love you?"

"Please. Chase has always loved me." House countered, refusing to admit that he was afraid of anything.

"You're afraid," Wilson needled.

"I'm annoyed. I rearranged my entire life and he grew up in the blink of an eye."

"The _nerve_," Wilson feigned dismay. "No, you're afraid," he repeated, sure of himself. "And you're angry."

House scowled at him.

"You're afraid he'll reject you. You love him and you have no guarantee that he's going to love you as much as he did as a child when he wakes up as an adult. No one has ever loved you like that and you don't want to lose it."

"If I needed a shrink, I'd go find Johnson."

"The only person you need is your son. Go find him."

House turned the envelope over in his hands. In a flash, he opened it seeking whatever answer it had to offer.

_AN: As always, thank you for the continued support and comments. Sorry this chapter is kind of short. _


	19. Chapter 19 The Ending I Intended Part 3

Aware that he was sleeping, Chase tried to open his eyes which were not cooperating with his mind. _I'm going to make breakfast for Daddy_, he thought. _And then we'll see what Santa Claus brought. _

His mind took on two voices. _Father's dead_, the more rational sounding one said.

"_I mean my new Daddy, _the smaller voice argued.

He thought about House telling him to put his trucks away. He tried to push that image away so he could break free from this strange dream. _Wake up!_ his mind shouted.

His body resisted. He felt like he was floating on his back in a billowing sea of darkness. It could have been magic for all he knew. He had never experienced anything quite like it before. Convinced that he would sleep a while longer whether he really wanted to or not, Chase relaxed. There was no point in fighting the magical pillow surrounding him. It was much stronger than he was.

Soon images of Wilson putting marshmallows in his hot chocolate and Foreman reading him a letter floated into his mind. He thought his lips might be curving into a sleepy smile as he imagined a small black and white kitten who had no mother. He was going to take care of it. The kitten disappeared as he saw House standing beside him, telling him his entire family was dead.

It made no sense--no sense at all.

"His heart is racing," Cameron observed, speaking quietly to Foreman. After getting calls from Wilson, they arrived at the hospital within minutes of one another and got to Chase's room about the same time.

"His vitals are okay," Foreman declared, checking the monitors for himself.

Cameron took Chase's hand in her own. "I never thought I'd see him again," she smiled warmly. "I can't believe he's really here."

"I'm going to miss the little guy," Foreman lamented. He had grown extremely fond of little Chase. "Do you think he'll remember?"

Cameron shrugged and continued to watch Chase sleep.

Chase thought of Foreman sitting on the floor, pretending to be a bear. He remembered explaining exactly what a Foreman was to a little girl named Emily. He hoped that Foreman would come see him so that they could play with his new toys.

That made his peaceful reverie come to a crashing halt. _What?_ the more rational part of his mind snapped again. _Stop it!_ He could not understand why he kept trying to insert his colleagues into his childhood or his childhood into New Jersey.

His thoughts started to drift to his younger days again. His mind wandered to Australia, to the home where he grew up, to the blue carpet in his bedroom, and to the window where he would sit and look at his collection of books. He saw his favorite book of all, _The Velveteen Rabbit_. He touched the fuzzy rabbit on the cover and picked up the book, deciding to go find his mum.

He walked down the long hallway to his parents' bedroom. The door was closed, but he knew she was in there. She slept a lot. He knocked on the door and reached for the knob. "Mummy," he called.

Victoria Chase was sitting on the edge of her bed, just sitting. She was not watching television or reading or anything.

"Mummy," he called again.

She slowly turned to look at him. "What, baby?" she asked, her voice subdued. Even though it was nearly lunch time, she was wearing red silky pajamas that were dotted with tiny yellow flowers.

He took the book to her. "Will you read me a story?" he asked.

It took at least a minute for her to answer. Her son waited with his hopes high. "Can't you read it yourself, Robbie?" she sighed.

He climbed onto the bed and sat next to her. "I don't know all the words," he explained, offering her the book. She did not take it.

"What would your father tell you to do?"

"Sound it out," Robbie grumbled, repeating the oft-heard phrase in a tone that mimicked his father.

"Then do that," she instructed.

"But… don't you _want_ to read to me?" he asked. He did not _want_ to sound-it-out. He wanted his mum to read to him.

She sighed heavily. "I just don't feel like it."

"Please."

"Robbie, no. I don't want to." She got up, leaving the bed possibly for the first time that day.

Clutching the book, he followed her as she left the bedroom. "We could do something else," he suggested, padding along after her.

She stopped just as she got to the stairs. "Robbie, I don't want to _do_ anything. Just leave me alone."

"You never want to do anything with me!" he stamped petulantly.

"I'm tired, you miserable little brat." Victoria raised her voice.

"Why are you tired?" Robbie asked. "You sleep all the time." As soon as he said it, he felt a sharp stinging across his cheek. He dropped the book and covered his face with both hands. He could feel big tears welling in his eyes and he started to cry.

"Shut up!" Victoria yelled. "Just shut up! I can't take this anymore."

Frightened, the child cried even more.

"I said be quiet!" Victoria yelled. She grabbed both of his wrists and tried to pull his hands away from his face. "Stop crying!" Her grip tightened.

Robbie tried harder to hide his face since seeing him cry made her angrier. She was grabbing him so hard that it hurt. He tried to stop the tears but he was hurting and he was scared.

"Shut up!" she screamed, starting to shake him. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" She could not stop herself even though she knew what she was doing was wrong. He should not cry. He knew better. He did not need her to read to him either. He was smart enough to do that for himself now. She only wanted to be left alone. She was tired. That was all.

"You're hurting me!" Robbie choked out between sobs. His arms hurt. His shoulders hurt. His head hurt. His stomach hurt. His mum let out a frustrated cry that sounded almost like a growl and she slapped him one more time. His head was spinning as he felt the blow. He could not get his balance and the next thing he knew, he was tumbling down, banging into edge after edge of the wooden stairs. He cried out as he saw the floor coming closer and closer and then everything went black.

Only, it did not stay that way for long.

House was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him.

"It's okay," House said, gathering Robbie in his arms. "I'm not going to let her hurt you anymore. Come on, Chase, I'll take you home with me."

He looked up the stairway. It had never before seemed so far to the top. His mum was standing there and she slowly faded from his sight. Nothing hurt anymore. It stopped hurting when House lifted him.

"Did she hurt you?" House asked.

He nodded. Something was different about House. He was not hurting any more either.

"I won't hurt you," House promised.

"I want to stay with you," Chase said, hugging House tightly. "I want to stay with you."

Chase could feel himself being pulled in two directions. One offered him flashes of a life with his mum, a life filled with fear and stress and uncertainty where his father walked out and left him to tend for an mentally and physically ill woman. That one was dark and cold and lonely; but she needed him and he wanted to help her. The other direction was brighter and warmer. House was there and he was laughing. Wilson was there and he was the best surrogate uncle any kid could ever have. Foreman was there and he was his buddy. Chase knew exactly where he belonged and why he wanted to forget that other life that beckoned him to return.

"I want to stay with you," he said again, only House was fading too. "No!" he said as everything grew darker. "I want to stay," he repeated, as light started to fill in the billowing dark space.

"He's waking up."

Chase recognized Cameron's voice even though it was muffled.

"I think he's trying to say something, " Foreman said, watching his lips move.

"I want to stay," Chase repeated, this time partly audible to Cameron and Foreman. He tried to resist the pull that was awakening him, but it was a futile attempt. He opened his eyes and saw his two colleagues standing over him. He was horrorstruck.

He knew he was back from that other place where House was his Daddy and Foreman was _his_ Foreman. "No!" he shut his eyes against the glaring light and the reality. "No! I have to go back," he mumbled. He became restless, wishing to escape the hospital bed and his own body. He wanted to go back into his mind or wherever he had been in that better life. It had been real and he knew it had been real.

Only, it could not have been. It was impossible.

Something must have happened. That was why his head was throbbing in so much pain. Had it all been a dream?

Cameron patted his arm, trying to soothe his agitation. "It's okay. Everything's okay now."

"No," Chase argued. "I have to go back." He felt panic rising in his chest. She did not understand. He _had_ to go back. If he did not go back, he was going to lose everything.

"Hey, Little Man, it's okay," Foreman offered. Then he realized what he had just said. "Sorry."

Chase was even more confused then. "Why'd you call me that?" he asked, daring to open one eye to the harsh light so he could see if that was really Foreman. He tried to sit up, but found that his head started to spin when it left his pillow.

"Sorry," Foreman apologized, sheepishly.

"No. Why did you call me that?" Chase demanded. "That's what you called me before, only you couldn't have."

"You remember?" Foreman asked, hopeful. He too had doubted that Chase would remember anything of his second childhood when he awoke.

"_What_ do I remember?" Chase asked, rubbing his aching head with one hand.

"What _do_ you remember?" Cameron asked, trying to get his perspective rather than filling in the blanks for him.

Chase shook his head, unwilling to say that he remember that House was his father. His colleagues would think he had lost his mind. "I don't think I remember anything," he answered softly.

"But you remembered me calling you Little Man," Foreman reminded him.

"That's not real," Chase argued, trying to find some bit of an acceptable reality. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand in an effort to alleviate some of the pain.

"Yes, it is." Foreman said. "That's what I called you when you were… younger."

"How?" Chase asked, grateful that Foreman would give him some kind of clue that matched what was in his head.

"We don't really know," he answered.

Chase remembered coloring at the conference table. "Everyone was happier," he whispered. "I shouldn't be here. Everyone was happier when I was someone else." He continued to rub his head gently, trying to get the pain to stop.

"I wasn't," Cameron answered immediately and defiantly. "I missed you."

"I shouldn't be here," Chase repeated. It was the only thing he could think. The world had been a better place when he no longer existed as he did now.

"Don't say that," House told him, having heard what Chase was saying as he entered the now somewhat crowded private room.

Chase looked to House. House would have the answers. He always did.

"How are you feeling?" House asked, closing the space between himself and the bed.

"Hurts," Chase winced, thinking more of what he was missing than the aching reminder of his accident.

"You must be pretty confused right now," House surmised.

Chase nodded. _Completely befuddled _was more like it.

"It's okay. I think we all are confused. Do you have any idea how long things were… different?"

Chase shrugged. "Were they _really_ different?"

"Very," Wilson provided the answer realizing that the more people who told Chase that they had had this strange experience along with him, the better that he would feel.

"Do you know how long?" House repeated. He saw that Chase was hesitant to answer. "It's okay. It really happened."

"It was September or October, I think. But now I remember Christmas Eve." Chase supplied. "Maybe," he added. The Christmas Eve he remembered was impossible.

"That's good," Cameron encouraged him. "Today is Christmas day."

"There was an accident this morning," House told him. "You hit your head and everything changed again."

"How?" Chase asked.

"I have no idea," House answered honestly. "I found you in the kitchen and you were like this again."

"I really was _different_?" Chase quizzed, still unwilling to vocalize that he remembered being a child again.

"You were four," Foreman answered, realizing someone other than Chase needed to say it. He saw how confused Chase looked. He knew that look. A question that was impossible to answer was coming. "None of us know how."

"I'm not crazy?"

"No more than the rest of us," Cameron said.

He looked to House. "And you…?"

House looked to Wilson who was now holding the opened envelope.

House turned back to Chase. "I'm your father." He took the envelope from Wilson and flashed the return address to Chase. "I had Princeton General run a DNA test. It's true."

Wilson opened his mouth, but a stern look from House told him to be quiet.

"How?" Chase asked, stunned by the news. Had he been able to look at anyone other than House he would have seen that he was not the only one who was floored by the announcement.

"You're a doctor. It'll come to you when your head stops hurting."

"It's okay?" Chase asked, searching House's eyes for his real feelings. The man certainly did not appear to be upset about the paternity test.

"Good thing, actually," House answered with a shrug. "I got rid of your apartment, confiscated your TV, and put dinosaur sheets on your bed. You can only do those kind of things to family. You're living with me, at least for now. And since you're old enough now, it's your responsibility to take care of the litter box for _your_ cat. I suppose if you want to move out, it can be arranged. Later. Right now you're still grounded for playing with the stove."

Chase laughed, but he could feel his eyes stinging with happy tears. "Dad?"

House reached out and squeezed Chase's shoulder. "Son."

Cameron could be heard sniffing back her tears; but she, Foreman, and Wilson could have been completely absent from the room as far as the other two men were concerned.

"You need to rest," House added.

"I want to go home," Chase said.

"We'll go soon," House acquiesced. "Right now, I want you to recuperate. Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Wilson and I will go find something for lunch." He turned to Cameron and Foreman. "Don't let him get out of bed."

House's hasty exit was not lost on Wilson. As soon as they were out of the room, whatever it was that had been holding Wilson back came undone. "Why did you tell him that?" he asked, moral outrage flowing freely.

"Notice how he didn't ask to see the results? He trusts me," House smiled.

"What happens when he does ask to see them?

"He won't."

"But you're not--"

"I am now."

"You can't just rewrite his life." Wilson said in a very loud whisper. Heaven forbid anyone happen to overhear the conversation.

"Why not?" House asked, stopping their journey. "What will it hurt for him to finally have a father who actually gives a damn about him? He needs me."

"He had a father," Wilson reminded him. "You can't take that away from him."

"I'm not," House said. "Rowan's dead. It's not like I'm putting any distance between them that wasn't already there."

"But--"

"_I need him_," House admitted. "It's better this way. For all of us."

"But it's not the truth," Wilson said gently, softened by House's admission.

House shrugged and continued on his way to the cafeteria. "So what? Everybody lies."

_AN: And they all lived happily ever after. The End. Or, the first ending anyway. Sorry for the delay in updating. I pinched a nerve and Percoset became my best friend for a while. I couldn't write under the influence. LOL I hope you enjoyed this!_


	20. Chapter 20 Alternate Ending, Part 1

_This may feel like déjà vu. _

Chase awoke on Christmas morning to see a black and white ball of fur next to him on his pillow. He kissed the kitten's head and said, "Wake up, Andy. It's Christmas morning!"

The tiny cat yawned and stretched its legs, already purring. Chase took the kitten in his hands, then hopped out of bed. He carried Andy with him as he tiptoed to House's room. Peeking inside, he saw that House was still asleep. "Shhh," he shushed Andy. He turned around and headed to the kitchen.

He stopped for a moment when he saw all the presents under the Christmas tree, but he was certain that he would get in trouble if he dared to touch them before House awoke. That was the way it had been with his Mummy. It was exciting to think about the presents, but he had had such expectations for perfect behavior drilled into him, that he could resist the temptation to go rip away the paper to find out what treasures were hidden. He did not want to get into trouble.

When he got to the kitchen, he set Andy on the floor. The kitten scurried to his bowl full of food and began to eat. "It's Christmas, so I need to do something nice for Daddy," Chase whispered. "Wilson showed me how to scramble an egg, so I'm going to make him breakfast. Then we can see what Santa left."

First, he needed an egg. Chase went to the refrigerator and opened the door. He found the carton of medium sized eggs and took them to the table. He realized he needed a skillet, so he looked in the shelf next to the dishwasher where all the pots and pans were stacked. Careful to not make a lot of noise, he pulled a large skillet from the collection.

He set the skillet on a chair because it was lower than the table and easy for him to see what he was doing. He opened the egg carton and retrieved an egg, then tapped it on the side of the skillet. He let the egg plop into the skillet, got most of the shell out, set the empty shell on the table, then cracked another one. He bit his lower lip, determining whether or not that was enough egg to make a good sandwich. He decided he better add a few more, just to be safe.

Wilson had added something else. What was it? He thought and thought, then decided that it had been salt. He leaned across the table so he could reach the salt shaker and then seasoned the raw eggs. "Do you think that's enough?" he whispered to Andy who jumped onto the chair and started to lick the food in the skillet.

"Don't eat Daddy's eggs!" Chase scolded, picking the cat up and putting him on the floor. It took both hands for him to transfer the cumbersome skillet from the chair to the stove. When he got to the stove, he realized he was too short to reach the controls at the back of the appliance or to stir the eggs like Wilson had shown him. He would have to drag a chair from the table to the stove. So he did.

He climbed into the chair and studied the knobs on the stovetop. He could read Hi, Lo, and the numerals two through nine between the words. It was easy enough to figure out which knob controlled which eye based on the diagrams next to the controls. He decided that Hi was probably best, so he twisted the knob until the arrow pointed to it. The glass top burner started to glow red under the skillet.

Chase realized he did not have anything to stir the eggs with, so he climbed out of the chair and rummaged through a drawer until he found a spoon. With the spoon in one hand, he started to climb onto the chair again. The chair wobbled as he stepped up. He dropped the metal spoon as he tried to catch his balance, but it was too late. Both Chase and the spoon fell backward as the chair toppled over.

*****

House awoke to the sounds of metal and wood clattering to the floor and his son's startling yelp. He threw the covers back, grabbed his cane from where it was hung on his headboard and rushed into the kitchen.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight before him. There were eggs burning on the stove, a chair was toppled over, and Chase was sitting on the floor, holding the back of his head and crying loudly while the kitten sat watching beside him.

House prioritized his actions, rushing to the stove to turn it off and move the skillet to a cool eye before a fire started. He got onto the floor with Chase. "Let me see," he said, hugging the little boy to his chest and examining the back of his head. "Look up at the light," he instructed.

The wailing ceased and Chase looked up at the light and sniffed. "It hurts."

"I bet it does," House agreed. "You're going to be okay. I don't think you have a concussion."

"A cuck-a-what?"

House shook his head, smiling at his child's curiosity. "A really, really bad bump on the head."

"It _is_ really bad," Chase assured him quite sincerely.

"But it's not really, _really_ bad." House kissed the top of his head.

Chase rubbed the back of his head, not quite convinced.

"What were you thinking?" House asked. "You could have killed yourself! Don't ever do anything like that again!"

"I'm sorry," Chase sniffed.

"I'll make your breakfast if you're hungry. Just wake me up." He pulled himself to his feet and reached down to help Chase.

"It's not _my_ breakfast," Chase corrected him. "I was making breakfast for you. For Christmas." He frowned. "I wanted to do something nice for you. I'm sorry I messed up."

House smiled. In all the commotion, he had completely forgotten that it was Christmas. It had been a long time since he had a reason to care about the holiday. "You're a sweet boy, you know that?" It was a lot harder to be angry that Chase had just scared him half to death when he learned the motives behind Chase's dangerous actions.

Chase beamed at the compliment. "Andy helped too."

"He's a sweet cat."

Chase nodded.

"Tell you what--I'll cook some eggs and we'll have breakfast. Then we'll open presents because Santa Claus left very good little boy a whole lot of presents." He saw Chase look over to the Christmas tree with the same anticipation he had seen the night before when Chase was longing to decorate it. "Or," he took a long pause. "Or we could open presents first."

"Presents?" Chase asked tentatively.

House laughed. He nodded toward the tree. "Go!"

Chase grabbed his hand and led the way. "You come too. I bet Santa brought you something too."

"I don't think Santa brings presents to grumpy old men," he explained, wishing he had gotten himself a present just to encourage Chase's belief in the jolly old man. It defied reason that he wanted Chase to believe in such nonsense, yet he did.

Chase opened present after present, tickled by each one, from the fire engine that was big enough for him to ride to the Legos to the Vtech Vsmile to the Fisher-Price medical kit.

At the back of the tree was one present that House knew he had not put there the night before. He supposed Wilson could have left it there and he would not have noticed.

"That's not my name," Chase said, pointing to the gift tag.

House saw that it said, "To Greg."

"Is it your name?" Chase asked.

"Yes it is."

"Then you're supposed to open it."

House nodded. He could not argue with that logic. He was dumbfounded by what he discovered in the box.

Inside the frame was a photograph that Wilson had taken with the new digital camera just the day before. Two prayers were painted on each side of the photograph. The first said, "Dear God, Please make me the kind of man my daddy is." The second said, "Dear God, Please make me the kind of man my son thinks I already am."

"It's us," he said, showing the frame to Chase. It was the strangest gift he had ever received. Anyone who knew him knew he was not the type for God nor prayers nor sentimentality, never mind the fact that it was impossible for anyone to have printed that photograph. The gift made no sense at all, but he could not help but be taken in by the text as he read it again.

The words struck him as he looked into his son's eyes. He was not the kind of man who doubted himself, but even his faith in himself could not compare to the faith that child had come to put in him in just a brief period of time.

He realized that was the most valuable thing anyone had bestowed upon him--Chase's faith. The rare and precious gift was not his faith in God or Santa Claus or things supernatural, but his belief in House himself. Looking into those eyes, House vowed that would be one thing he would not destroy. If the consequence was that he became a better man for it, so be it. One day he just might look at a photo of himself and see what Chase already saw.

"What do you say we have strawberry waffles with our eggs?" he asked.

"I can help make them!" Chase volunteered.

"When you're older."

"I'm old enough."

"How about you just let me take care of you for now?" House asked. "That's my job as a Dad."

"You're the best Dad in the world." Chase said, giving him a hug.

"That's because I've got the best kid in the world."

"And the best cat too."

House laughed. "Best Dad. Best Kid. Best Cat. I think we've got it made."

_AN: Sorry for taking so long. I've gone back to college to work on another Master's degree because I'm obviously crazy as hell and think I need more stress in my life. Thanks for all the comments! _


	21. Chapter 21 Alternate Ending, Part 2

"Doctor, your dad is in the waiting room."

Chase looked up from his patient and nodded toward his receptionist. "I'll be right there. He's not hitting on you, is he?"

She laughed and shook her head, "But he only just got here."

Chase finished giving the injection he had drawn. "You're a good girl, Chelsea," he said. "Your mommy is going to be so proud of you."

"Everything's okay?" Mrs. Robinson asked, watching as Chase finished his work on Chelsea.

"She's perfect."

Mrs. Robinson smiled and took Chelsea in her arms. Chase followed her from the exam room to the waiting area. He heard his father's voice before he saw him.

"And that cat lived until Chase finished college. When it died, I thought the boy was going to grieve himself to death. So, naturally, I went out and got him another kitten so he wouldn't have time to be sad anymore."

"Dad!" Chase exclaimed, finding House speaking to the family of one of his critical patients. "Do you have to tell everyone that story?" he asked.

"What? They like to know their doctor has a heart. Isn't that right, Ms. Bradley?"

Ms. Bradley nodded. It was obvious from her tear-streaked face and the crumpled tissue in her hand that she was upset about a loved one.

"So, don't worry about Bruno. If anyone can save him, it's my boy. He was top of his class, you know. He got his brains from me, by the way. His mother was an idiot."

Ms. Bradley laughed. House had managed to make her feel a little bit better. "How is he?"

"He came through the surgery well. We did have to amputate the leg. Recovery will take a while, but he'll be hobbling around on the other three before you know it. I'm sorry you've been waiting. I thought you'd gone home and I tried to call you after we finished the surgery."

"I did go home, but I got nervous and came back," she shrugged.

"If all else fails, they can rig him a set of wheels that will rival mine." House indicated his wheelchair. "It's got all the bells and whistles. I can go zero to sixty in ten seconds."

Ms. Bradley smiled at House. "It's been years since he chased a car," she lamented. "I just don't know what got into him."

"There was probably a poodle riding shotgun," House suggested, making her laugh again.

"I'll keep a close watch on Bruno and let you know of any changes. Now, what I need for you to do is go home and get some rest. Bruno's going to need a lot of TLC when he gets to go home. You should make an area ready to keep him confined."

"Thank you," Ms. Bradley said, giving him a hug. She turned to House and offered her hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you." She turned back to Chase, "Your dad is a delight."

"Yeah, I hear that all the time," Chase agreed. Anyone who knew House would have been aware that Chase's was being facetious, but Ms. Bradley had only just met the proud father of the best veterinarian in New Jersey. Chase clapped House's shoulder. "So what brings you by today?"

"Bored," House sighed. "You busy?"

"Little bit," Chase answered. "But I can get George to cover for me if you want to get something to eat."

"Let's go then. You can treat your old man."

They stopped at a café near the clinic and placed their orders for the blue plate special of spaghetti with meat sauce.

"What's wrong?" House asked, noticing how Chase seemed preoccupied.

"Nothing, really." Chase sighed. He took a sip of his water.

"Problems at work?" House guessed. Sometimes Chase still got sad when he lost a patient. He still had that tender heart that had made him such a sweet little boy.

"No," he shook his head. "Nothing like that. It's silly, really."

"Tell me anyway."

Chase leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I've been having those dreams again."

House felt as if he'd been doused with ice water. He swallowed, but said nothing, waiting for Chase to continue. He knew exactly what dreams his son meant. They had started when Chase was twelve. Chase admitted to their recurrence every few years. House had no idea how often Chase really dreamed about his former life, but every so often it would bother him enough that he would bring it up.

"It's the damnedest thing," Chase said. "I'm working for you with Doctors Cameron and Foreman, but they're young and I'm about the same age. And in the dreams, I come out with all this medical terminology and can name off weird diseases. I've looked some of the ones I could remember up and they're real diseases."

"Maybe you should have gone into diagnostics like your old man," House shrugged. "You always loved Cameron and Foreman so much when you were little. That's why you dream about them." House thought of his former fellows fondly. They had both moved on from PPTH and both had eventually become departmental heads in their own right. "You spent so much time with me at the hospital, you were bound to pick up some of the terms."

"But you don't even like me in these dreams."

"I liked you," House argued, quickly realizing he should not have said that.

Chase laughed. "Really? Because last night I dreamed you punched me."

House remembered that day from many years ago.

"It's okay, Dad," Chase patted his father's hand. "It was just a dream. Don't look so guilty."

"I'm sorry," House apologized.

"Dad, I know you'd never really hit me," Chase smiled, grateful that he had grown up with his father instead of the abusive mother he barely remembered. "It's just that these dreams are so realistic. It's like I'm really there and I'm really a doctor and I want so badly to make you proud of me. I guess part of me thinks you would have been happier if I was a doctor."

"I am proud of you," House told him. "And you are a doctor."

"Yeah, but I'm not helping people like you did."

"Sure you are," House told him. "Every time you save someone's pet, you help that person. I think you were always torn between medical school and veterinary school and that's why you have these dreams." House had been explaining the dreams away for fifteen years. First he told Chase that he just missed Cameron and Foreman. Then he told Chase it was because he was trying to decided on a career path. He had discussed the problem with Wilson and they had come to the conclusion that it would be in Chase's best interest if he never knew he had lived another life.

"Did I make a wrong turn?" Chase asked sincerely.

"Son, you would have been a great diagnostician or a great intensives t or a great surgeon. You would have been great at any specialty you put your mind to. But you've had a special place in your heart for cats and dogs and horses and any other four legged critter as long as I've known you. That's where your heart is. That's why you're a great vet."

Chase nodded, "Thanks." Every so often he had these crazy dreams that made him doubt his life choices. It was nice to have a father he could talk to about it.

"Are you happy?" House asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

"Yes," Chase answered quickly. "I love my job."

"Then you made the right decision. Don't let some silly recurring dreams make you question your whole life. You're exactly where you're supposed to be. You're my son and I couldn't be prouder of you."

"You're the best, Dad," Chase smiled. "I love you."

"Me too, kid." House responded just as the waitress brought their plates. "Dig in."

_AN: So, I was going through some papers and found the beginnings of this chapter today and decided to see what I could make of it. It's been a while since I wrote anything. I've gotten away from fan fiction, but I'd like to find my way back._


End file.
